


Common Ground: Part I of the Fields of Evermore series

by Tiger Tyger (Southern_Comfort)



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Ending, Friendship/Love, Hurt Kirk, M/M, Male Slash, Pon Farr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 10:26:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 59,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11102607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Southern_Comfort/pseuds/Tiger%20Tyger
Summary: An unconsummated bond, a self-sacrificing Vulcan first officer, and an all-action captain combine for a thrilling romantic adventure. Fraught with danger from within and without, Kirk and Spock navigate the ebb and flow of a new bond, the end of Enterprise's five-year mission, and the new life they hope to forge together as they grope for common ground.





	1. Chapter One

# COMMON GROUND

 

## Tiger Tyger

CHAPTER ONE

 

He was going to die.

Here in this rock-strewn desolation of a planet, where charcoal clouds overhead battled with jagged lightning, and a cold, rainy wind plastered his uniform to his chilled, tired flesh. He carried a long-sword rather than the usual phaser, but it fit superbly in his hand, the braided leather grip conforming to the contours of his palm, its weight a well-known ally.

James T. Kirk, youngest captain of Starfleet's flagship, with more honors and accolades to his credit than he would comfortably admit to, his journeys aboard _Enterprise_ fast becoming legend, whose strategies were now taught in the Academy, was all too aware he stood no chance again the horde fast approaching. He'd always known it would be like this, that he would die in the heat of battle, alone, with no one to aid him.

He stood on the high wall of the ancient war-scarred castle and watched them approach.  He had no qualms about death; he had come face-to-face with the specter too many times to fear it now. As a soldier, it had been his constant companion, a grim-faced collaborator in many prior missions, stealing friend and foe away with equal, casual violence. _No man would actually admit he was ready_ , he told himself with a quick smile, _but I can say that there is no better way to die than in the performance of my duty._

The dust that rose in the distance as the hard-packed earth was disturbed by the hooves of countless horses, gave an unneeded warning of their approach.

For a moment, reality was split by the unexpected vision of McCoy bending over him, calling his name, Sickbay lights searing his eyes. Then he saw Spock's face, showing the faint traces of the emotions he so often fought to deny he held. Kirk would have smiled to ease their concerns, but then they were gone, and he was returned to the castle, his sword flashing as he was attacked by the first wave of invaders. And then there was no more time to think, only fight.

If there had been anyone to ask the questions, Kirk couldn't have told them whom he fought, though they looked like an odd amalgam of Klingon and Romulan. Or why he was fighting on the planet, instead of from the bridge of _Enterprise_. Or why they battled with swords, or even, why he was alone. He only knew he was here, and so were they. The castle they intended to storm was precious, and he must protect it, even to the death.

And to the death it would be. Kirk did not know how long he could last, but even his stamina and skills with a sword would not be enough. Once more, the anachronism struck him. _I never learned how to use a sword_ , he thought, but that realization was swept away in the need to protect himself against what would surely be a crippling blow to his abdomen. He had a thought for his ship, the 430 crewmen aboard her and his responsibility for their lives, then swiftly realized Spock would keep them safe.

 _Spock._ He was glad his peace-loving friend was not here to see the butchery he dealt so easily. Blood covered him, and his shirt was torn at the collar and waist from savage blows. Some of the blood was his and some was not. Bits of other things clung to his tunic and pants, and his feet slipped in the congealing mass beneath his boots. His arms were tired, and he longed for a taste other than that of metallic fear on his tongue.

And then, suddenly, there were no more warriors.

Kirk panted and swung around, waiting for more of them to attack, but for the moment, the castle was peaceful. He almost sobbed with relief, gasping for air, for life, for strength, with each breath of the cold, damp air. He bled freely from a full score of wounds, but he was still alive, and he felt exhilarated with that knowledge, tinged with a vague sense of disbelief.

Rain lashed down even harder, and he lurched inside the castle, seeking its scant protection. The roof had caved in during the battle, and some of the walls had been battered, but it still stood, and that was all that mattered. Strategically, he knew that he could not hope to hold it alone, but even were that the case, he would forge ahead as best he could.

Exhausted, he dropped to the stone floor and using his arm as a pillow, slept, to dream of his ship and his friends.

 

 

"We're losing him, Spock," McCoy told him, calmly, coolly, though the Vulcan knew from the flashing blue eyes and tense posture that the ship's doctor was feeling neither cool nor calm. But on a taut, exhausting mission long ago they had come to a guarded _détente_ when Jim was not with them to act as mediator, and both men had silently upheld it since. "The Di'Shan are attempting to take over his mind by force and nothing we do is preventing it from happening!" He raked a hand over his tired face and Spock knew distant sympathy at McCoy's pain for only a moment. He was too busy attempting to formulate a solution to the predicament they currently found themselves in.

The _Enterprise_ had been diverted from their latest mission, that of ferrying one of the most august healers in this century from Shadinium IV, a plague planet, back to Vulcan. Dispatched to Shandiniar space, their mission was to act as mediators following a bloody confrontation between two factions on the largest planet of the system, Andar. The Di-Shan refused to have anything to do with outsiders, including Starfleet, while the Andarians insisted that trade and a delegation to the United Federation of Planets could only have beneficial results for all.

Sadly though, even the captain's vaunted charm, his mix of wiles and Kirk-slanted logic, were insufficient to sway the Di'Shan from their societal fusion of ethnic intolerance, strains of religious justification, and unswerving self-righteousness. The UFP were apparently an association of devils, while Starfleet itself was composed of a combination of "dirty" races, a union of those who intermarried to an intolerable degree, inaugurating the birth of "mongrel" breeds with no sense of racial purity.

Spock, himself, had been asked whether he was "pure" or not. Being Vulcan, no matter what his genetic makeup, he did not lie. Kirk was coldly furious when he was informed that the Di'Shan representatives summarily refused to speak with the delegation until his First Officer was removed from their soil. Spock, however, was not offended and said as much, returning to the ship under the captain's irritated gaze. The Vulcan doubted that the Di'Shan received much of the Kirk charm that day, and was confirmed in his belief when the captain beamed aboard that evening, as annoyed as he'd been that morning.

"Spock!"

"I am listening, doctor," he replied, gazing down at his captain. Kirk was pale, his face damp with perspiration, eyes beneath their heavy lids moving restlessly, as if he dreamed. But Spock could sense his friend's distress, some part of Kirk aware that he was fighting a losing battle for his sanity.

"The Di'Shan are adept telepaths, doctor. They are apparently able to coordinate their abilities into a group meld, creating a cluster mind. It is extraordinary."

"Don't sound so damned admiring! This is Jim that's being mentally raped, Spock."

He shook his head. "Not yet, doctor. He is too strong for the Di'Shan to penetrate his mind's protective walls yet. Still, I fear it will not be long until they do."

McCoy didn't ask how he knew that. It was common knowledge to the senior officers of the _Enterprise_ that the command team shared a strong rapport that had aided them in their many successful missions, most especially when the danger was greatest. Only McCoy knew that it was due to the many mental links that he and Kirk had forged over the years, until now it was only through Spock's diligence in maintaining his shields, which prevented Kirk from gaining access to his own thoughts or vice-versa. He could sense the captain's worry, his pain, and worse, his certainty in his own death.

"So what are we going to do about that? Politely ask them to stop?"

Spock stifled a sigh. "I have already discussed the situation with the Di'Shan representative. They admit nothing."

"Of course not. But why Jim? And why did _you_ need to go to the planet again? It's not as though they actually like you, Spock."

"I am the only Vulcan-trained Starfleet telepath aboard, doctor. It was vital that I learn their plan."

"Don’t you have to touch 'em?"

His gaze still leveled on the captain's face, he replied, "Not always. The Di'Shan are arrogant in their ability, but they do not suspect that anyone other than they have the same talent. I was able to glean much of their plan in the emissary's random thoughts."

"And?"

His eyes remained glued to the hollow of Kirk's throat, the wide expanse of his chest.  "And?"

"What's their plan, Spock?"

"To carve out the captain's personality, and insert one of their own, essentially making him a body for their cluster mind. They intend to use him, and in some manner I have not yet discovered, to destroy the "mongrel races" they believe are polluting the universe."

"Good God!" McCoy let the shock take him for only a moment before the healer portion of his soul came forward. "That's obscene. I can't give him any medication then?"

"No. He cannot fight them while asleep. I have already attempted to change the ship's shielding to an unacceptable variance for the Di'Shan to penetrate; they have overcome it. There is no firm evidence that the Di'Shan government is authorizing this attack and therefore I cannot use force to coerce them to stop this assault on the captain's person. The Andarian government will offer us any assistance they can, but even they have not been able to determine the location of the group causing this harm to the captain. And any action we take must be upheld by the Federation; the Di'Shan consider their soil inviolate and we must honor that."

"So we just let this horror happen?"

Spock's heart gave an insistent extra thump in protest against such a thing occurring. He knew the vitality of Kirk's soul, the star-stealing brilliance of it, and was not averse to admitting that the touch of it was not something he was willing to do without. "I am not in the habit of yielding to circumstance, doctor. And neither is the captain."

 

 

Kirk woke, his body aching, clothes dried stiff against his sore wounds. The castle around him looked even more forlorn and derelict in daylight. As he staggered out of the battered wooden doors of the main hall into the meager sunshine, he became dizzy and abruptly sat down on a large wall stone that had come tumbling down sometime during the night. It looked and felt like granite, and held little warmth from the sun. He was so terribly tired that even raising his head took more energy than he felt he had. A cold breeze swept past him, ruffling dead leaves, and raising dust from the paving stones. He covered his eyes, trembling a little from the cold and exhaustion.

After a while, he crept to the battlements and looked out upon the dry, lifeless land surrounding the castle. Though he had won the battle last night, the planet itself was dying slowly, bits and pieces yielding to the inevitable, life slowly leaching from the soil. It was as if the enemy's bitterness had pervaded the land, bleeding it of all strength and beauty. Once, he knew, this world had been bright and beautiful, nothing but promise beckoning from mountains to the sea. But that was before _they_ had come and stolen much of its energy, leaving behind a rotted hulk of what had been.

He saw none of the enemy now; sometime during the night they had spirited their dead and dying away, and he was alone once more. In the distance, he saw a speck, moving towards him. Finally, he recognized the familiar silhouette coming towards him, and squinted to see further in the suddenly bright sunlight. He knew that light walk, the slightly stooped shoulders, and the dark cap of sleek black hair.

"Spock!" Jim called, overjoyed to see his friend. Perhaps the cavalry had come. It wouldn't be the first time that Spock had come to his rescue.

Where the Vulcan walked, new life bloomed: grass rose green and strong beneath his booted feet and seemed to race away from where he walked, whispering. The air smelled cleaner already and as Jim moved slowly down the walkway that wended snakily to the ground, he appreciated the warmth of a stronger sun. He didn't question these things; many of the everyday events of Spock's life seemed like a miracle to Kirk, starting with his unusual birth. It had been a breakthrough of science, merging Human and Vulcan genomes into a feasible life form, but Kirk was certain that no one, not even those scientists, had ever expected anyone remotely like Spock. Not his looks, his strength, or the brilliant mind that Jim had quickly learned to trust better than any computer. But what was more important, to Kirk at least, had been his heart. No matter where it was located on his hybrid body, Jim Kirk had never known a more loyal friend in his entire life, or one who would go to such lengths to aid him.

Spock's appearance was as Kirk had expected. He was in uniform, spotless and seemingly serene, as always. But Jim knew how to read Spock's face, to learn each and every hint to his emotions. And as much as the other man would argue about having them, Jim knew he did—he was just adept at controlling them, suborning them to his ironclad logic and indomitable will. In Spock's handsome face he now read relief, pleasure, and an odd sort of reluctance to come closer than arm's length.

"Spock. What are you doing here?"

Suddenly, there were two large rocks at the base of the walkway that would serve as seats and they took them.

"Where is _here_ , Jim?" his friend asked softly, the brown eyes brightened to mahogany by the summer sunshine.

Jim opened his mouth to tell him, and then hesitated, questions bursting into his mind. "I don’t know," he finally murmured and frowned. "Why don't I know?"

"Do you remember the Di'Shan delegation? And your return to _Enterprise_?"

The memory was dim, but it was there. He felt as though he had done nothing but fight for months. "Ye-es."

"You collapsed in your quarters on the fourth day of talks. The Di'Shan are attempting to infiltrate your mind."

Kirk just stared at him for a long moment, not doubting for a moment what Spock was telling him. "Then . . . where are we?"

Spock raised an elegant hand and gestured around them. "This place is only in your mind. It is a representation of your struggle against the Di'Shan telepaths. This is _you_ , your core personality . . . for want of a better word, your soul."

He looked around, understanding what his friend was saying. "Then I'm dying?"

Spock's gaze was steady and comforting. "Yes.  But I am working on a method to free you from the Di'Shan's grasp."

"How?"

"I can bond with you. This . . . type of meld would link us to such a degree that the Di'Shan will have no ability to touch you."

"And if it doesn't work? Then what, we die together?" That idea was utterly repugnant.  "No, Spock, no."

The Vulcan shook his head. "There is no other way. All other attempts have failed. And I would not die. The Di'Shan have raw talent, but are not skilled at their manipulations. They would not be able to defeat us both."

He was exhausted and worried, but the fear he felt was not for himself. "I don't want to risk you."

"And I will not see you die needlessly."

Kirk was a tactician; he looked into his Science Officer's face and realized that Spock would not yield. He smiled softly, pushing a lock of hair out of his eyes. "You're going to be stubborn about this, I take it?"

"Indeed. It would be wise of you not to attempt to dissuade me, Jim."

Stubborn didn't even begin to cover Spock's obstinacy. "And this bond . . . you could dissolve it when I was safe, with no harm to yourself?"

"Since we will subsequently take a heading to Vulcan, it would be more effective if the separation were done there."

Kirk digested that, vaguely noting that the skies were beginning to darken overhead. Dusk was fast approaching, and he didn't question it. He understood that this oppressive gloom was a signal that the Di'Shan were circumventing the mental shields that he had learned to construct at the Academy so long ago. "Will it hurt you?" he asked again, not comfortable with Spock's answer.

"I do not see why it would, Jim. Rest assured, I would not do this if there were any other method available to us. I do not particularly care to be bonded to an illogical, emotional, and exuberant human."

That last was said in the soft, familiar voice that Kirk was well aware indicated humor. "Very well, Mr. Spock. Do your magic, but do it quickly." He indicated the darkening sky. "I'm going to have company soon and I'd rather not lose this fight."

Spock rose, and Jim grasped his hand in an uncharacteristic gesture, knowing how the touch-sensitive Vulcan hated casual contact. "If this doesn't work, Spock, you can't let them take my memories. I hold too much sensitive information about Starfleet—"

"They will not, Jim."

"But—"

"The moment your protections are destroyed and there is no recourse, I will do what must be done. They are painless methods at my disposal, though I will be understandably loathe to use them."

Satisfied that Spock would do his duty and see him dead before he allowed the Di'Shan access to sensitive material that Kirk maintained, he rose from the granite chair.

Spock looked at him for a long moment and then, without fanfare, disappeared.

Jim looked around at the returning desolation, and then solemnly trudged back up to the battlements of his mental castle. It looked forlorn, indeed, and he hoped Spock's plan would work. Fear had invaded his heart, now that he knew what he faced. Fear of death, of pain, of defeat. He had lost battles before, but never a war. He shifted his sword in his hand, relishing the feeling of hard steel and the creaky sound of the leather grip. Dust rose in the far off reaches and he prepared himself to wait for the oncoming slaughter, hoping it would not include his own.

 

 

Spock rose from his position beside the captain. McCoy stood nearby, his expression concerned, but calm. As much as McCoy was a font of overwhelming emotion on occasion, he was also a very soothing presence when he chose, and Spock was grateful he selected now to display it.

"Did he agree?"

The Vulcan nodded and then turned to rise and move towards McCoy's office, where the Vulcan healer, Seyjan, awaited.

Seyjan was in his 130th year, but as usual with the eldest of Vulcans, his age was not apparent on his features or his body, except for the wise, perceptive emerald gaze. He rose as lithely as any youngster of fifty, almond-shaped eyes locked onto Spock's face, waiting. He wore Vulcan robes of green, embroidered with the symbols of IDIC on the collar. His hair hung down his back in a waterfall of white, combed back from a high brow.

To say that Seyjan was a healer was to try to place a star-shaped piece into a rectangular box. He was that, and much, much more. To Vulcans, he was a living symbol of the correctness of adhering to Surak's teachings of non-emotionalism as well as an icon of the concept of IDIC. Yet he was also an advocate of a scandalous breach of Surak's principles, maintaining stolidly his own belief that Vulcans did themselves a disservice by attempting to completely divorce themselves from their feelings, an attempt that in such intense beings as themselves, could never be completely attained for any but the masters of Kohlinar. Instead, Vulcans should be required to control their depth and breadth of emotion and their ability to steal rational thought from even the most logical of beings. To do otherwise was to lose who they as Vulcans inherently were, and such a loss could only be devastating in future populations.

In any other people, these statements would have been seen as heresy. But Seyjan's own personal magnetism, his ability to read others and see into their hearts and minds with such clarity, was sufficient to protect him from the most severe scorn that could be heaped upon him. Not that he cared. If shunned, he would simply turn away, to find others more willing to hear and understand. Spock had been one of those, though outwardly he maintained his silence on the subject. Given his dual nature, it was unlikely that he would ever attain the heights of mastery of his emotions he strove for, and found a certain comfort in Seyjan's teachings.

The old man looked at him, his head slightly tilted, questioning silently.

Spock answered the unspoken question, aware of McCoy at his back, silently supportive.  "He agreed."

"Indeed. And you, Spock? Are you prepared for what you must do?"

"I am." There were no other options available. He could not bear for his captain to die in this fashion. One day, it would come, in the fullness of time, but that time was not here, not now.

"Excuse me, doctor," Seyjan bowed in McCoy's direction. "I would not offend a colleague, but I must speak to Spock privately." He continued in Vulcan, its harsh consonants oddly out of place in this quiet sanctuary. "A bond such as the one thee proposes is not lightly given, Spock.  Duty alone does not compel thee."

"No."

Seyjan nodded, a half-smile lurking about his lips. "And he? Would Kirk go to such lengths for you?"

"Yes." Of that, he was certain.

"Your parents will not understand. Nor will others."

His eyebrow rose. "Perhaps, but it is not required that they do so. I am an adult and since my betrothed Chose another, I am free to take a bond-mate of my choice."

"You are well within your rights." Seyjan nodded and moved closer to him, looking deeply into his eyes. "And if this situation had not occurred, would you still have Chosen Kirk?"

Spock was silent. That very silence would speak volumes to one who listened with not only his ears, but with his heart. It went on for what felt like hours, but only lasted minutes. He felt completely naked during that time, conscious that the older Vulcan could read his heart and see what hid there.

"I will attend," Seyjan finally murmured, closing his eyes and bowing slightly. He crossed his arms and slid his fingers into voluminous sleeves.

Spock crushed the sense of relief that flooded him. Without a healer, or at least another telepathic Vulcan present to validate the bond, his people would never have accepted the pairing.

But Seyjan wasn't finished yet. "I sense that you view this bonding as a temporary solution, son of Sarek, though it is not in our nature to take our mates in this fashion. You insist that Kirk must have his freedom from you, even though by your selfless act you may harm yourself."

Spock bowed slightly from the shoulders. "One cannot tame a winged one, master. One can only hope it will return to the glove." He quoted directly from Seyjan's own writings.

The elder smiled then, his emerald eyes lighting with understanding and warmth. "So be it, Spock. I will hope that your hawk knows its place and finds it soon." The healer walked around Spock and into the other room, leading the way. Spock followed, his steps certain, his head held high, mind and soul united in purpose as never before.

On Vulcan, this ceremony would have been surrounded by a great deal of what the captain would have called, "pomp and circumstance," with Spock's immediate and extended family in attendance for the celebration. But they would have to do without it, a prospect that caused a quiet sense of satisfaction to radiate throughout him. He had no doubts that he and Jim would be able to complete a bond, even one of this depth and urgency. Their minds had proved to be quite compatible in the past and for his part, Spock had never felt the presence of Kirk's vibrant mind to be intrusive.

He lay down on the medical bed that had been moved closer to Jim's, conveniently situated so they could touch. McCoy's stood by the captain's head, while Seyjan remained close to Spock. Each would act as witness.

The Vulcan closed his eyes and reached out, taking Jim's hand into his own.

The moment Spock touched Kirk he sensed his captain's desperation. But as much as he wished to, a bonding of this level was not a process he could rush. Jim's brain could easily be irreparably damaged if he became impetuous and hurtled headlong in the void. He visualized the link between them, trailing it to its source in Jim's mind, the wellspring of Kirk's soul. Once there, he infused it with the presence of his own mind, his own essence, all that he was willingly poured into the welcoming embrace of Kirk's heart. The sudden, exhilarating entwining struck him as a cascade of emotions; his physical body twitched and shuddered under the onslaught. He fought to withhold the deeply intense desire he felt for Kirk and soothed Jim's terror as he entered the mindscape that Kirk had created to envision the purely mental assault he resisted.

Spock arrived in the mindscape none too soon. Jim was on his knees, vainly attempting to prevent the Di'Shan from invading his castle doors. During the short time Spock had been absent, Kirk seemed to have fared badly. Though there were many enemies slain and dying, too many were destroying the castle, prying apart the blocks of granite that composed it, their strength obliterating even the sun's rays, turning day to night, an all-pervasive gloom weighing the combatants down.

He wasted no time, roaring his defiance to those who would attack his mate, startling the Di'Shan who attacked Jim. Summoning armor, sword and shield, he responded violently, releasing the warrior that lay at the depth of every Vulcan. Serenity was thrust aside as he battered the remaining telepaths into submission, using every iota of his and Jim's mental strength to bulwark their defenses. Astonished by his ferocity, the Di'Shan fell back in disarray, their surprise sufficient to assist Spock in rooting them from the captain's mind.

The gloom fell away and the stars came out, shining brightly against the dark curtain of the universe. Jim, wounded and bleeding in too many places to quickly count, collapsed with a sigh to the castle floor, unconscious. Spock knew it was more likely exhaustion that had felled him that any permanent damage, but he solidified Jim's tattered mental shields, augmenting them again with his own. He felt the bond coalesce around them, its multicolored patterns calming his raging spirit, soothing him in the sure knowledge that his bond-mate lived. Carefully, Spock assessed the damage to Jim's mind, doing what he could to repair the "castle" and then withdrew from the mindscape.

He felt Seyjan's cool fingers against his temple and face, and relaxed to make it easier for the older man to sense the bond. When the gentle probe withdrew, Spock opened his eyes.

"It is done," Seyjan intoned in Vulcan, his remarkable eyes shining. "Thee are one."

"Did you doubt?" Spock asked in the same language, as he levered himself off the bed. He could sense that Jim was truly sleeping now, the exhaustion of the battle having emptied all his reserves.

"By no means, Bonded. But I did wonder of Kirk's reaction."

"The captain is a pragmatist, Seyjan," he replied in Standard. "We did what we had to do."

McCoy was checking Jim over, and he finally turned to them. "Whatever mojo you used worked, Spock. He's sleeping, and I don't expect him to wake for at least 12 hours."

" _Mojo_?" Seyjan asked, obviously puzzled.

The science officer shook his head. "It is irrelevant, Seyjan. The doctor has an unusually colorful Terran vocabulary."

McCoy was grinning widely. "I'm so pleased that Jim's okay, I'm going to ignore that crack." He quick ran a medi-scanner over Spock's torso. "Are you feeling all right?"

"In perfect health, doctor, thank you. I should return to duty."

Seyjan lithely stepped in front of him, preventing him from leaving. "Be not long, Spock. You must remain close to your mate."

He pursed his lips. "There are ship's duties to perform—"

"I am thinking of the damage to you, Spock," the healer responded sharply. "It will be difficult enough for you to tolerate this bond without its completion. Do not make it all the more strenuous by not following tradition, a tradition designed to prevent harm to those Bonded."

Spock straightened slightly. He could feel the bond in his mind, a coiled rope of light and energy that stretched from himself to Kirk. It drew him, demanded he remain close to his mate, insistent upon gentle caresses to strengthen it from without. If this were a true bonding, he would remain by Jim's side for the next three days, flesh to flesh, mind to mind, new intimacies begun to entwine the strands of their souls ever closer.

But that was not for them, he thought with sadness. This pleasure within would die a slow, withering death, strangled by his own hand, born of a hard necessity.

Yet he had not reckoned with how the bond itself would struggle to survive, an amalgam of himself and Jim that fought to exist, to remain. It must have shown on his face for when he asked, "Will it be this way for him?" Seyjan knew exactly what he meant. McCoy stood close by, near enough to hear the conversation, but not seem as though he were.

"It will draw him, yes, but not as strongly as it does you, Spock. These are uncharted territories, son of Sarek. We are not a people that Chooses lightly, and these chains were never meant to break."

Spock flushed. It was not meant as a rebuke; he knew that. Nevertheless, he felt as though all his nerves were suddenly tender, sensitive, and the words cut. "The Captain is alive. We will . . . endure until the healers on Vulcan can separate the bond."

Seyjan shook his head. "You set yourself upon a hard road, Spock."

He looked away, longing to be on the bridge, away from the emotional turmoil that was even now beating against his logic. "I have never known it to be otherwise," he murmured, and then strode out of Sickbay.

 

 

As the turbolift doors closed behind him, Spock leaned against the wall after hoarsely stating, "Bridge" to the computer. As the lift sped away, he sighed and attempted to compose himself. Separating from Jim in that moment had been the most difficult act he had ever performed in his life. It took every bit of tenacity he possessed to remain on course for the bridge. The bond demanded, he ignored, but it was a vicious and brutal fight. His mind, even his body, turned traitor: he could feel Jim's slow pulse throbbing against his fingers, the scent of his skin in his nostrils, the beloved voice murmuring in his ear. Only strict Vulcan control kept him from displaying his erection and the effort it took made him sweat.

As he entered the Bridge everyone looked up, a worried question in their eyes that he responded to. "The Captain is sleeping. He will be completely well in a day and most likely return to duty."

The humans smiled and elbowed one another in their happiness. Uhura stared at him with what amounted to suspicion on her lovely features. "And what did it cost this time?" she murmured, low enough for only a Vulcan to hear. "You look wrung out. Sir."

He allowed a crease of a smile to press against his lips for a moment. Her intuition had always been remarkable. He stopped by her and murmured, "What Doctor McCoy assures me is Vulcan _mojo_."

She chuckled. "He has a way with words, doesn't he? _Mojo_ is an African word that means 'magic power' or 'voodoo'."

"I presumed as much." Returning to business, he asked her to contact Star Fleet Command with an update on the Captain's progress, appending to it Dr. McCoy's latest medical report. As for the Di'Shan, Spock was certain that there would be no progress on any type of alliance with them, and all ships would receive orders not to contact them again. Perhaps an alliance with the Andar would be possible, but it would have to be handled with the utmost care. Not a job for the _Enterprise_ ; an ambassador would be sent to deal with the situation.

He returned the ship to their previous course, towards Vulcan at warp six, and dealt with other ship's business. As First Officer, it was his responsibility to see to all personnel issues and maintenance of the ship; and as Science Officer, he oversaw all the science departments. It was a mix he was comfortable with, giving him control of the ship and its workings without the responsibility of overall command. He knew his strengths as well as his weaknesses, and his attitude toward a captaincy had not changed. He was a far better first officer then he would ever be a captain, and he stubbornly maintained that opinion, even though even Jim argued with him about it occasionally. He was not interested in promotion, not since a handsome, golden-haired, hazel-eyed human had taken over the ship and Spock's very soul.

He shook his head, forcing his mind away from Kirk. He could tell that Jim was sleeping quietly, his dreams placid and comfortable. He was barely moving, only shifting ever so slightly once in a while. Deep in an analysis of an experiment done by the Botany department on a species of plant found on X'erxes 9, he was startled by a quiet _Spock?_ that echoed softly in his mind. He suppressed how much he enjoyed that gentle mental touch, and responded, _Jim? Are you well?_

_Tired. You?_

_I am fine, Jim._

There was silence for a time, and then, _I guess it worked._

_It did. Between us, we were able to make your mind untenable for them. Only the bond survives._

_Which is how I'm thinking at you._

_Indeed._ He attempted again to ignore how _right_ this felt, but he doubted that he had managed it very well. Jim sometimes knew his heart better then he did himself. If he wondered at his reticence, he said nothing.

_Where are you?_

_On the bridge, reviewing reports. We have returned to our previous heading._

The silence expanded, but he could sense that Jim was still with him.

_Spock?_

_I am here._

_You'll be off-shift soon?_

_I will._

_Then you'll join me in Sickbay._

It wasn't a question. He would have smiled if he had been anywhere else. _I understand. I am too far away._

_It feels like you're on the Rim._

He suppressed another smile. _It is best for you if I remain apart, Jim. Since we are to break this bond in future, then strengthening it is not in your best interests._

This silence had a stiff sensation to it. _My best interests? Now that I'm in 'my' right mind, I kind of remember that Vulcans don't consider bonding a casual situation. I've been to one of your marriage ceremonies, remember? How did you think this was going to work?_

_I would prefer to speak of this in person, Jim._

_We are in person, Spock. You can't get much more in person than somebody's head._

There was no arguing with Kirk's particular brand of logic.

 _I expect to see you when you're off-shift._ Whether it was in his mind or not, Kirk's command voice rang through the thought. _Scotty taking over the con?_

_Yes, in .45 hours._

_Good. See you then._

Spock sighed, but Jim was already gone. He could have followed and continued the argument, but it would only be giving in to his desire to be with Kirk. He returned to his analysis, but he could not focus on it. He was attempting to fight off the excitement of going to see his bond-mate, but it would not abate, and finally, the con given over, he headed once more towards Sickbay.

 

Kirk lay back against the pillows and took inventory.

Sickbay was quiet, with no other patients in this section. That was typical; McCoy knew it upset the crew to see their captain laid low, as though he couldn't possibly be human and injured or ill. It spared that mythos, and it also prevented the captain from making crew uncomfortable by his very presence.

His body felt fine, if tired, as though he'd gone through a decathlon in the past few days. But that wasn't the interesting part.

 _He could feel Spock._ He knew his surface thoughts, the cool, scientific detachment of his mind, the muted emotions that he insisted he did not possess. None of that was such a surprise; he'd linked with Spock in the past, in a very transitory manner, and it had felt similar, but this . . . this was _more_. So much more that he wanted to explore it, poke into it, absorb it and contain it somehow, but the method was unknown to him.

Contrary to popular opinion, melds were not unpleasant—at least, not with Spock. The longer they lasted, the longer he wanted them to last, though he didn't admit that to anyone. Jim Kirk, longing for a meld with a Vulcan, desiring it, _needing it_? Talk about a reputation crusher. But it was true. He let himself believe that Spock enjoyed them too, because to do otherwise was to know an inadequacy so deep within he couldn't stand to look at it.

More important than that now, was the fact that they were bonded.

_Bonded._

Married. For all intents and purposes, they were _married_.

What did it mean? Why would Spock take such a chance?

And why did it _feel_ like this? Since he'd woken up it was as though they were taking the same breath together. And that was with the bond blocked. He knew that it was, at least to an extent; he didn't know how he knew, but it was there, between them, separating what could be from what was.

And he _hated_ it, hated that sense of distance.

Spock had always been the most private person that Kirk had ever known. It was part and parcel of him; an aspect of Spock that made him even more fascinating. And he was fascinating with that cool sense of mystery, the untouchableness that was as much a part of him as his ears, his dark cap of blacker than night hair, the strong, elegant fingers, yet oh-so-gentle hands.

Jim knew he had reached beyond that logic and into the man himself.

And that had brought them here.

How much of it was logic? Loyalty?

Love?

Was that a word he could even use with Spock? That he should use with Spock?

He took a long, deep breath, pushed his heart into neutral, and his brain into gear. _Time to analyze the situation._

Spock had taken a chance and bonded with him in the hope that their combined minds could evict the Di'Shan. That had been accomplished, much to Kirk's relief. But the cost to the Vulcan was very high. Spock would not have taken this drastic step if another path had been available.

"Jim? How're you feeling?"

McCoy's slight southern drawl was gentle and relaxed. Jim opened to eyes to see dark blue eyes looking over him with professional interest. Bones appeared tired; probably hadn’t been to bed since this situation began. He rarely did when it was either of the senior officers in Sickbay.

"Like I've been fighting with Klingons," he admitted. "So whose desperate plan was this?"

His friend chuckled. "Spock's, actually. We had run out of ideas and believe me, we had tried everything short of blowing the damned planet to Kingdom Come."

"So instead of blowing up a planet, you married me off to a Vulcan."

The blue eyes danced, and McCoy rocked on his toes, glee evident on his face. "Yeah. Thought it was high time you settled down."

"Hmph. And you were best man, I suppose?"

"Of course. Think you'd get married without my giving the bride away?"

Jim glared at him. "Thanks. How's Spock?"

"That's a good question. He _seems_ to be the same as always, and keep in mind that it's only been a few hours."

And then the conversation abruptly stopped as the object of it appeared.

Jim sat up against the pillows, and nodded when McCoy excused himself. Spock stood alone at the end of the room. The light blue Science shirt fit loosely against his torso, as did the regulation pants. The boots added no height, but then Spock hardly needed any. His expression was one of practiced calm, of indifference and rejection of all things that were un-Vulcan. But Jim Kirk had long ago learned to read the hidden thoughts in those dark eyes, the ones that were so obviously focused today on nothing but himself.

"Are you going to stand there all day, Spock?"

"As I mentioned, Captain, it would be best if we were not in proximity. If I may, I will adjust our duty schedules, so that we are on alternate shifts—"

"And that's that? You wipe your hands of me, the irrational human you bonded yourself to?" His attempt at humor fell flat and he realized he sounded more like a discarded girlfriend. He sat up and gestured for Spock to come closer.

Spock looked affronted, and Jim would have smiled if the situation wasn't so serious. "I am doing what is best for you—."

"And what about yourself? Damn it, would you come over here!"

Slowly, the Vulcan moved closer, until he was perhaps five feet from the bed. "My choices are inconsequential. A bonding that is not voluntary is not a bonding."

Suddenly, Jim could see the situation as Spock saw it. A bond that was unwanted, undesirable. He'd let his own emotions cloud what must have seemed like a simple choice for Spock.

_Never unwanted, Jim._

Those soft words in his mind eased the swift, crushing sense of desolation from strangling him.

_Just not with me._

_I did not say that. Only that this was done out of . . . expediency, a means to an end. Not . . . the way a bonding should take place, with both parties aware of the positive and negative factors of such a decision. I would not take that decision away from you._

_And what about you, Spock? What are you feeling? And please, for the love of God, don't tell me that you don't feel anything._

Did he actually move a step closer?

_Anyone would be pleased for you as a mate, Jim. Yet I do not believe a bond between us would be wise._

Jim was just dealing with the first sentence when the second came along and blew his ego to bits again. _No?_

_Not at this time. We are at the end of our five year mission. There will be many opportunities for you. I would not wish to . . . negatively impact those decisions._

He digested that. He could have pressed Spock for details, but something told him that now was not the time to do so.

_You know that I want to go back to space._

_I do. But as we have discussed, Star Fleet may not agree._

Command had been cagey about his next assignment. He didn’t have any idea what to expect when Enterprise returned to Earth. As much as he wanted a break from command duties for a while, for the first time in his life he feared what he could lose from his achievements.

 _And?_ he sent back, returning to the more immediate problem.

_And in order to break the bond, it is necessary for us to spend as little time together as possible._

_You've already blocked my sense of the bond, haven't you?_

A dark eyebrow rose. "You are aware of that?"

"Yes. There's a big boulder between us, between your mind and mine. I presumed you put it there."

"I did."

"But it's not easy for you to keep it there."

Spock sighed softly and looked away. "To leave a bond . . . incomplete . . . is difficult."

"How long until we arrive on Vulcan?"

"16.8 days."

For just a moment Jim could feel just how tired Spock was, how hard the battle he waged within himself was, and then it was gone. It was unfair to expect Spock to handle this all on his own, without Jim's support. However it would have turned out, this was what Spock wanted now, and Jim was going to have to grow up and give it to him.

"Alternate shifts, right. And after Vulcan, we have a short trip to Earth and the end of our first mission. Have you thought any more about what you would like to do?"

"You know that I will not accept a command as Starfleet wishes. Whether an alternate berth onboard another Constellation-class cruiser is available, I have yet to determine."

"In other words, you're as undecided as I am."

"Indeed."

"All right.  Go on, get out of here." He gestured towards the door with a charming smile. "I'll do my best to stay out of your way until we get to Vulcan."

"Thank you, Jim."

"That's my line. Again." His smile faded. "Go get some rest. Mr. Scott can hold down the fort until Bones lets me out of here."

With a nod, Spock turned away. At the doorway, he stopped and looked at him once more, seeming to have something to say, before tightening his lips and moving on.

Jim lay back against his pillows, sad, almost grieving for something that had never even had the chance to be born.

 

 


	2. Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

 

Kirk stared at the screen before him. They were at warp six, a few days behind their expected schedule thanks to the Di’Shan fiasco, and four from Vulcan. Thankfully, Command wasn’t bitching about it, and Seyjan was as patient a Vulcan as any there were to be found. Jim barely saw their guest, except occasionally at meals. He spent most of his time either in his quarters, with McCoy, alternating personal theories of healing, or with Spock.

The captain was running a slight fever, a reaction to the incomplete bond, or so Seyjan assured him. Though he communicated with his first officer regularly, he hadn’t seen him for twelve days. And, he admitted, it was making him cranky. He hadn’t snapped at anyone yet, but it was coming, he could feel it building up.

He jabbed the intercom in his office with more fervor than necessary, holding Engineering’s latest report in his hand. "Mr. Scott," he called with a snap in his tone.

"Aye, Captain," his chief engineer replied almost immediately. He must have been sitting on the intercom.

"My office, Commander."

"Aye, sir."

When the red-shirted Montgomery Scott arrived, he had the expression of a man going to the gallows.

Kirk glared at him. "Mr. Scott, if this dilithium stores report is correct, we’ll be floating into Space dock rather than flying. What do you have to say for yourself?"

The Scot’s pale skin flamed red. "I’ll take care of it on Vulcan, sir."

Kirk lowered his voice. "I know we’ll only need impulse engines, Mr. Scott, but this shouldn’t have happened."

"No, sir, it shouldna. My apologies, sir."

Jim knew at that moment that it hadn’t been Scotty who’d forgotten. "Spock’s already nailed you to the wall for this, hasn’t he?"

"In a manner of speaking, sir."

He could only imagine that wouldn’t have been a pleasant conversation. Spock could be quite cutting when he chose, and dilithium stores were no laughing matter.

He pressed another button. "Spock?"

"Yes, Captain?" The deep voice charged Jim, woke up every nerve in his body and he fought to sound normal.

"Institute a series of drills. I know we’re heading home, but we’re not there yet and people are getting sloppy. On a starship, sloppy equals dead."

"Agreed, sir. Anything else?"

There were a million things Jim wanted to say. He hated this distance, he hated eating alone, he hated the separation in his head, he missed his friend, he was annoyed that they weren’t on Alpha shift together . . . but he said none of them, not with Scott in the room and unaware who could be listening from the bridge or Spock’s own office or lab. "No."

"Spock out."

He silently cursed as he closed the intercom and handed the report to the engineer. "Dismissed, Mr. Scott."

"Aye, sir."

Jim spent the rest of the day and night and next day overseeing drills and reminding people that he wouldn’t tolerate any laxness onboard even if they were heading to Earth. He understood that it wasn’t unusual for crew to start thinking about their homes, their family, receptions, parties, and more importantly, next steps at the end of a mission. But that wasn’t any excuse for the execution rating he saw on the first drill.

Or the second.

Even the third.

By the end of the drills, 36 hours later, he was tired, but satisfied. He could comfortably send off crewman to their next assignments knowing they were trained properly and prepared for what could come. As Captain, he saw that as one of his main duties. His training gave them a chance to survive in the inhospitable vistas of space travel.

At the moment, though, that’s not what his people were thinking about. They were cursing him out in any and every manner possible, using a variety of languages to do it. It made him grin and whistle a little through the corridors. His captains had suffered through the same snarling rage that he now justly deserved, and he’d given it to them, if only in his mind. His crew would go home tired, if nothing else.

He headed straight for the shower when he entered his quarters. He could hear Spock’s voice in the next room. ‘Probably going to relieve Scotty on the bridge,’ he thought before stripping off his tunic and shirt.

 

 

Spock entered his quarters after completing Alpha shift and prior to relieving Mr. Scott for Beta. He welcomed the stiff slap of heat that immediately pressed against his body, and removed his clothing. Naked, with nothing against his flesh, he felt the itch, the constant, overwhelming need to touch another’s skin. He cast his hearing out, but heard nothing from Kirk’s side of their attached quarters. In this instance, the sharing of a bathroom was a torment. He could smell Kirk’s scent as soon as he stepped into the tiny room, and it enraged him. His penis hung heavy and turgid, hungry for something Spock would not, could not, allow to happen.

He wanted Jim with a desperation bordering on the insanity of _pon farr_. But it wasn’t the sexual completion of the bond he craved as much as the mental. He knew Jim’s mind, and if he let his shields down just slightly, he could feel him: his worry, his irritation at this separation, his frustration that it had to be this way. . . .

Jim’s towel hung neatly, next to his own. It was still damp, and Spock grasped it. His fingers trembled as he pressed it against his face and inhaled deeply. Shamed by his behavior but unable to stop, he pressed it against his chest, as though he were holding the man himself. Face contorted in agony, he caught his reflection in the mirror and it staggered him.

Though Seyjan and McCoy had been dogging his heels with the ruthless efficiency of their kind, pressing hyposprays and food into him with determined regularity, they had been unable to stop the ravages of an uncompleted bond from showing on his features. He appeared haggard, deeper lines showing on his face than normal, a dull expression to his gaze that spoke of the turmoil within. He was pale, and he’d lost weight. Spock realized with very little feeling that he could die before they reached Vulcan, now only sixty hours away.

He turned away. There was nothing that could be done. That he had followed his human heart in this instance was immaterial; logic would have driven him relentlessly down the same path. Bathing quickly, he defiantly used Jim’s towel, scrubbing it roughly across his body as he wished the human’s hands to do.

Expecting no difficulties, since this stretch of space was frequently crossed by Starfleet ships of every type, he dressed, eschewing socks, boots and his blue tunic. Wearing only pants and a black undershirt, he settled himself at the computer terminal and returned to work. It had been of great assistance to distract him from the drives of his mind and body, though each day required more and more effort to focus.

It wasn’t required that he be on the bridge for Beta shift and in this instance, that was a good thing. If he was needed, he could easily dress and present himself in short order.

Losing himself in the paperwork required for a ship and crew returning to its home dock, he barely noticed McCoy and Seyjan enter.  He only felt relief when they left him alone.

 

 

The door between their cabins, which led into the bathroom, opened before Kirk could reach it. McCoy walked in, Seyjan next to him. Jim looked at them, annoyed that he felt dirty, grimy, and hot next to the Vulcan’s cool calm.

But Bones’ expression was crossed with a worried frown as he came over to Jim with a mediscanner in his hand. It whirred softly, and dinged. The doctor looked up at him. "Your fever’s higher, Jim. 102 degrees."

He’d known he was warm, but— "And Spock?"

"Does not fare well," Seyjan said. "I do not believe he will survive to reach Vulcan."

Jim stared at them for a long moment. "What?" he exclaimed softly, moving towards the elder. "He said this . . . situation . . . wouldn’t harm him!"

"I believe that ‘he hoped’ would have been the more accurate term, Captain." The healer removed his hands from the wide sleeves and gestured towards him. "He refuses to open the bond and save his own life." For the first time, Sey'jan would not meet his eyes. "He has that right."

"Like Hyperion Hells he does," Jim snapped, a myriad of emotions presenting themselves all at once. Anger, fear, affection for his stubborn Vulcan, pity for such a restrictive culture and its need for a social construct as the bond, vied for his attention before his emotional pendulum swung back to anguish. The need for action had him moving, and he pushed past the healers into Spock’s quarters.

He stopped at the door, met by the sweltering heat. It was hot, Vulcan hot, in there. Spock sat at his terminal, feet bare, wearing only his regulation pants and black shirt. His hair was slightly rumpled, which more than anything else, said much about his state of mind. He stared intently at the screen before him, working on something that took up so much of his attention that he didn’t register Kirk until he was next to him.

"Jim!"

Kirk jaw fell open slightly in surprise at what he saw. Granted, he hadn’t seen Spock in almost two weeks, but Spock looked like . . . he was dying. The dark eyes held heavy circles beneath them, and his face was cadaverous. His skin was dry and taut over high cheekbones, and his lips were chapped.

Over the years of his life, Jim had learned to trust his instincts, his ‘gut,’ for want of a better word, and it hadn’t failed him. Spock was in real danger, and so was he. He followed that instinct now.

His back straightened and it didn’t matter that he was half-dressed. He could and had issued commands in nothing but his skin. "Bones, Seyjan, thank you. I’ll take it from here."

Spock looked from them to him and back again. "They must not leave. You should not be here. I have reports to complete. Evaluations. You need to rest. I should go to the bridge."

"You’re in no state to be on the bridge."

Bones had dropped his head for a moment. When he looked up, he asked, "Are you sure, Jim?" his blue eyes concerned, yet oddly pleased.

He took in the worried gazes directed at him from both healers and nodded.

They looked at one another for a long moment, Seyjan taking in Spock’s distressed state, while McCoy concentrated on Jim, and then the healers glanced at one another. They moved in tandem to the door without any further discussion, their decision made.

As the door slid closed behind the healers, Jim laid his hand on Spock’s shoulder, just his fingers touching the hot neck.

The response was instantaneous. Spock jumped to his feet, his face contorted. "No. You did not ask for this!"

Emotion slapped against Jim’s body, coming off of Spock in hot, fluid waves. The Vulcan’s strong hands grasped his arms, tightening almost to pain. "It is not your choice!" Spock growled again, his head down, fighting whatever demons Jim knew rested in his soul.

"It _is_ my choice, and I’m making it." Mentally, he slammed himself against the divide that separated their minds, and Spock shuddered.

"No!"

"You want this, Spock. You need it. Stop fighting me, damn it!"

Spock spun away from him with a cry, and Jim moved to follow. What he hadn’t expected was for Spock to attempt a neck-pinch. Kirk avoided it easily; Spock’s reaction time was sluggish, before he tackled him onto the floor. If not for Spock’s debilitated condition, he wouldn’t have stayed there, and they wrestled for what felt like a long time. Jim finally gained control, grasping Spock’s wrists over his head, and looked down into Spock’s tormented gaze.

"Listen to me! I’m not some virgin sacrifice to the raging gods of Vulcan. I’m a rational, adult male who’s been on exactly two shore leaves in five years without you." He panted; fighting with Spock required a lot of energy. He continued the verbal assault, uncomfortably aware of Spock’s hot, hard organ pressed between their bodies. He lowered his voice, attempting a gentle coercion.

"We spend almost every evening together. We have our meals together. We practice in the gym together. We’re the best friend the other is going to have in this lifetime. We’re also, incidentally, the best goddamned command team in the galaxy! Do you really think I’m willing to give all that up? Don’t you know me better than that by now?"

"The dangers—"

"Are what they are. We’ll deal with them as they come, just like we always have."

The wall between them started to shiver, and Jim pressed his advantage. "If you let yourself die now, can you be sure I won’t die too?"

Spock groaned beneath him. "You don’t understand."

"By all that’s holy, Spock, I understand that you’re stubborn. What do I have to do to make you see?"

"I am male, Jim!" It was a pained cry.

Jim tried not to laugh. _Was that all?_ He leaned back a little from his position against Spock’s chest and gave a wry smile as he wriggled his hips slightly, sliding against the hard pole in the Vulcan’s pants. "Really? The chest hair should have been a dead giveaway."

Spock glared at him.

"Spock, you don’t get a reputation like mine by being timid about sex," he murmured softly, intimately. "And at the moment, sex isn’t that important. What is . . . is our lives." Jim sighed and released the Vulcan, standing up and reaching out to help Spock to his. "Don’t make me watch you die. Please. Not like this."

Kirk didn’t let go of Spock’s hand. He looked into the dark brown gaze, and saw the tumult that his friend was unable to hide now. Perhaps Spock really couldn’t make this decision by himself. Maybe there was some Vulcan stricture about unwanted mates or some crap like that. With a silent frustrated sigh, Jim closed his eyes and envisioned the bulkhead that separated their minds. He placed a hand on it and felt Spock shiver again. Relaxed and confident, he slipped through it and to the other side. The bulkhead vanished.

In a splash of heat and light, he felt Spock’s mind reach towards his. With a chuckle, Jim met those questing thoughts, content in them, comfortable as Spock’s mind carefully cradled his own.

_Dear God, it feels so good, Spock, so good._

Spock couldn’t even form words at that moment, the crescendo of affection and relief that Jim sent into him with his words stealing all speech, both mental and physical. He could tell that Kirk was speaking the absolute truth. There was no way to hide anything enmeshed in the bond as they were.

Finally he replied. _I am pleased you see it so._

He felt Jim collapse against his body, his arms coming up to wrap themselves around his bond-mate.

_It might take me a few days to get used to this._

_Indeed._ He hated to bring reality into their shared domain, but certain facts had to be faced. _Jim._

_Not now, Spock. Let’s worry about tomorrow when it comes. Right now, I want to lie down and know that when I wake up, you’ll be there. We’ve earned that, haven’t we?_

Spock sighed; he should have known Kirk would not listen. _Yes, Jim._

_You need to rest. And don’t we have to stay . . . attached to each other so the bond sets, or something?_

The Vulcan stifled a smile. _A bond is not titanium plating, Jim. But yes, it would be permissible for us to rest together._

The two men moved towards the Vulcan’s narrow bed and slid onto it, one after the other. They maneuvered to find the best arrangement of legs and arms, ending with Spock’s back against the bulkhead, Jim casually spooned up against the Vulcan’s heat. With a command to the computer, Spock made the room temperature more human friendly.

_Let’s get some shut eye. I’m exhausted. Arguing with Vulcans is more difficult than fighting Romulans hand-to-hand._

This time Spock did let the little smile escape. He allowed himself to move a little nearer to Jim’s broad back and dutifully closed his eyes.

Sleep took him fast, pulling him into cool, Kirk-scented darkness.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

 

Jim Kirk usually woke with a smile on his face and today was no exception.

It fell off when he sat up, sweating, sticky, and alone, in Spock’s bed. He glanced at the chrono and noticed that Alpha shift would be starting in two hours. The Vulcan was nowhere to be seen. They had slept right through Beta and Gamma shifts.

The bathroom door opened and Spock stepped out, a towel knotted casually around his narrow hips, everything else bare, even his hair a little wild. There was something of a challenge to Spock’s walking towards him before turning away to grab at clothes that made Jim’s blood start to thump against his temples.

Kirk was rarely one to back down from an implied challenge, but he was fairly certain that Spock was unaware that he’d done so. Jim lay back, pulled his arms behind his head, and lazily watched as Spock dressed. As expected, Spock flushed a soft emerald and kept his face turned away from the bed.

It wasn’t as if Jim had never seen Spock naked, though his friend was particularly body-shy in a Starfleet culture that wasn’t. Not that it mattered; Spock could freeze the dick off a man with a disparaging glance and a well-placed word or two. And the fact that Spock was incredibly intimidating in his nonchalant masculinity kept most unwelcome advances to a minimum.

Yet Kirk understood the wayward glances sent Spock’s way by those of any sex. Jim had often thought that Spock was an artist’s rendering male perfection. He barely noticed the slight jade hue to his skin anymore, other than acknowledging that it worked well with his ebony hair and chocolate eyes. The man was sculpted, all planes and angles of shade and shadow, fine limbs and bow-tight muscles encased in the softest skin that Jim had ever encountered.

And he was just about the shyest sexual creature Kirk had ever met. Unless locked in the devastating _pon farr_ or hyperstimulated by weird pollen and willing women, Spock kept his sexuality turned down to the lowest possible simmer. But it was warm enough for Kirk to pick up.

When Spock was dressed and had the flush controlled, he turned around.

Jim looked at him from the confines of the rumpled bed, seeing the Vulcan’s pupils contract at the sight. As usual, Kirk had woken up hard, and the subsequent show hadn’t done anything to change that.

"Will you be rising?"

When Jim didn’t immediately respond, hesitating at the possible innuendo, Spock continued, "We are due on the bridge in 1.4 hours."

Kirk sat up and patted the bed. He pushed his libido down and smacked it hard for good measure. Spock was his best friend; he’d saved his life by putting his future and his life on the line when it mattered. He patted the bed again. "Come on, sit down. I think we need to talk a little."

"Agreed." Spock settled neatly on the edge and managed to look far calmer that Jim believed he felt.

"Do you still think that the healers on Vulcan can break this . . . now that we’ve allowed the bond to really form?"

"The bond is not consummated and, therefore, is not at its greatest strength."

Jim managed not to blush at the idea of consummating their relationship, no matter how much the idea suddenly appealed to him. Instead, he noted what Spock had not said. "But?"

"We have linked minds previously. That has given the bond a familiarity it would not have otherwise."

"So, it’s a toss-up," Jim replied, pushing the blanket aside.

"A toss-up, Captain?"

Jim smiled. "No way to really know how it’ll turn out, Spock. It could go either way."

"Perhaps."

"Something you’re not telling me, Spock?"

The dark eyes fled from his for a long moment. "If the bond cannot be broken . . . I fear what your reaction will be."

"Spock." He waited until the dark head rose and their eyes again met. _Balls to the wall time, Kirk. Tell him the truth._ Jim lowered his voice, knowing Spock could hear him half a corridor away. "I would rather have one day with you as your bond-mate . . . then a lifetime with another."

Even his courage had limits. He didn’t say anything more, just stood up and walked into his quarters, aware of Spock’s eyes on his back the whole distance.

 

 

The business of ship life continued as before, the only difference being Jim’s presence in Spock’s bed, or vice versa. Since the crew was quite used to their being in each other’s quarters, there weren’t any additions to the rumor mill on that score. They’d managed to come to an intermediate cabin temperature, one that kept Spock under the blanket and Jim on top of it, at least at the outset. Soon enough, as they slept, their need to touch one another won out, and they woke wrapped around each other, sweating or freezing as the case may be.

And as enjoyable as that was, the evening before they arrived at Vulcan, Jim couldn’t sleep.

He’d tried. He’d reviewed reports until his eyes burned, worked out with three of the security personnel in a free for all, had a drink with Bones, and was yawning by the time he’d curled up in Spock’s bed, watching the Vulcan meditate.

When they’d settled for the night, Spock had no difficulty sleeping, no matter his private concerns about what would happen tomorrow. Jim was lying on his side, Spock on his back next to him, skin touching just enough to be intimate. But he wasn’t sleeping — doing plenty of yawning, yes, but sleeping, no.

He decided to come to terms with what was keeping him awake. Mentally, he paced, since he didn’t want to wake Spock by leaving the bed.

_Something as profound as a bond, even what small sense I’ve gotten of it, can’t possibly be maintained without some kind of real love, can it? And I’m not in love with my first officer._

_Is Spock foremost in my list of people I care about, along with Bones, Mom and Peter? Absolutely._

_Do I see myself falling in love with anyone enough that I would be willing to give up my ship? Truly? Honestly? No._

And that was the bottom line. He loved his ship, he loved the life he lived on _Enterprise_ , and until that changed there wouldn’t be any permanent relationships outside of her.

But Spock was a part of Enterprise, part of his crew, his life. Having a relationship, even a relatively platonic one, was not outside the realms of possibility.

_So if the bond can’t be broken, you’re okay with that?_ the strategic analyst in his mind asked, always factoring the angles.

_That won’t happen,_ Jim thought confidently. _I’m human, Spock’s Vulcan; he has mental needs that I couldn’t possibly fulfill._

_And Sarek & Amanda? How do you explain them?_

_Amanda loved Sarek._

_And you love Spock._

_He’s my best friend!_

_A best friend you don’t mind looking at like he’s a steak and you’re hungry._

_Shut up, you bastard. I’m a man; I have needs. Besides, Spock’s handsome. There would be something wrong with me if I didn’t notice that._

_Right, Kirk. You just keep telling yourself that. Dreaming about McCoy lately?_

Jim sighed. He rarely won against the analyst, but he wasn’t usually thrown to the mat quite that hard. _That’s not important; we both know I’m sexually aggressive. Spock should have the freedom to make whatever choice he wants._

_Okay, I’ll buy that. Kind of altruistic, evasive of the facts, and somewhat self-defeating, but okay. But here’s the question, Jimmy-boy: What if, after all his soul-searching, he decides he wants you?_

_Then what, boy wonder?_

Kirk punched his pillow with rather more force than necessary. _Damn it. I’m never going to get to sleep._

It was a somber group of four men that materialized the next day on Vulcan. The coordinates deposited them outside of a large funnel-shaped building, surrounded by sand gardens and far enough away from the main city of _ShiKahr_ that it was relatively private.

The group was composed of Kirk, Spock, Bones, and Seyjan. The building appeared to be of a stone that held different colors of brown within its strata, making it look like a sand devil locked in stasis. As Jim had noticed before on Vulcan, the building had an aesthetic appeal that superseded its efficient design. At the main entryway, there were four steps that wound in a half-circle around the building. It’s interior, open to the air, appeared dark and cool.

Only out in the full daytime sun for a few minutes and Kirk was ready for both a cold drink and someplace comfortable to sit. His nerves were in complete tatters, but he had shored up his mental barriers in the hopes that he wouldn’t intrude on any of the more sensitive telepaths they might deal with today.

Seyjan led them inside, and the moment Jim entered the circular building he let out a deep breath at the cool interior.

"Damnation!" Bones exclaimed, wiping his brow, his blue eyes brilliant. "I don’t know how these people don’t just melt, Jim."

Kirk gave him a wry smile and remained where he was, examining the chamber. The funnel was much larger than it appeared on the outside, rising high into the red sky. To the left of the entry chamber, embedded along one wall, sat layer upon layer of small discs, like glowing balls. They immediately reminded Jim of the chambers where Sargon and Thalassa had stored their consciousnesses for millennia. There seemed to be thousands of them, but the language that defined their nature was written in Vulcan and Jim couldn’t read it.

To the right, stone benches rested against the wall, and that was all. There was another entrance opposite the one they had come in by, leading to another garden, but Jim couldn’t see anything else.

Seyjan turned to the wall to the left of the entranceway, and pressed upon it. A gentle five-tone musical sound emerged, and a recessed door slid aside. Three people stepped out, all Vulcan, two men and one woman, dressed in plain tan robes, with sigils on the upraised collar. Their features were completely nondescript, and there was nothing in their expressions that indicated concern, interest, or much of anything else.

They spoke to Seyjan in Vulcan for a short time then had a quiet conversation amongst themselves for only a few minutes before arraying themselves opposite Kirk and Spock.

The eldest of the three spoke, giving Spock the ritual greeting, which he returned somberly. "Seyjan tells us that you are bonded, Spock, son of Sarek. The manner of your bonding is in question, and there are doubts whether it is a complete or well-formed bond. That is what you wish us to discern?"

"I wish to know if this bond can be broken."

A seemingly startled silence descended, but Jim didn’t move or react. He had perfected his genial bland face, and nothing was going to crack it if he could help it, even shock such as evidenced by these three.

"I can only presume it is because your bond-mate is human. Or that you are less than Vulcan," the woman snapped.

"You presume incorrectly," Spock told her calmly, ignoring the tone that had Jim bristling at his side. "I ask only if it is possible. My reasons are my own."

She opened her mouth to respond, but the elder raised his hand and she bowed and shut up. He spoke to her in a tone of command and she left them, though not without an acid glare in Kirk’s direction.

"T’arun and I will be honored to assist you in determining the status of your bond, Spock. Seyjan has made known to me your selfless act in saving the life of your captain."

Spock nodded, but said nothing more.

"Captain Kirk, I am Trinel." The older man walked over to Jim, while T’arun stood before Spock. "Do you agree with Spock’s request?"

"If it can be broken, then it isn’t a true bond, is it?"

The dark onyx eyes of the elder held his own. "Perhaps. It is unlikely that Spock, with the high psi potential he is known to possess, would have formed a poorly constructed bond. Therefore, the only cause for fracture of the bond would be the lack of commitment of its possessors."

"In that event, I’m sure you would agree, Spock should have his freedom," he stated calmly, refusing to address his wildly diverging emotions on this subject.

Then the eyes of the elder were all that he could see, while fingers as dry as paper rested gently against his face. Slowly, Jim let the Vulcan into his mind, directing him to the place where the bond rested. He pictured it like a power conduit within the _Enterprise_ engine room. From one tube to another, power flowed, a dense, convoluted braid of sapphire and gold stripes that throbbed and pulsed in tune with his own heartbeat. He could feel Spock here, the cool passion of his logic and the less cool fire of his emotions.

_It is a lie, captain, that we have none,_ the elder told him. _We control them only, lest they control us. And so, to test the depth of your connection with Spock. . . ._

The flow of power within the chamber changed, some force separating the blue strands from the gold, and then preventing them from touching. The engines shrieked in complaint and gave off a fiery red in response. Jim’s head started to pound and his knees unaccountably weakened. Vaguely, he felt Bones catch him and keep him upright.

The further the power was pushed apart, the worse the pain became, billowing waves of it overtaking him, each one stronger that the last. He fell to his knees, reaching out, trying to pull that much needed power back, heard Spock’s angry cry before the agony killed him, and whited out all perception.

 

 

Spock sat quietly on the stone floor, Jim’s head in his lap, gently stroking his cheek while McCoy hovered nervously, waiting for his hypospray to work.

"It might have been nice if someone had warned me that Jim could possibly have an aneurysm from this little test," the doctor snarled, his anger apparent in his snapping blue eyes. "But oddly, no one seemed to mention it."

"My apologies, doctor," Trinel murmured from his position near to Seyjan. The two Vulcans were quietly conversing. "Your captain has an intense, dynamic mind, and he does not yield easily."

"Tell me about it," the doctor replied, and then continued to grumble quietly.

Spock ignored his anger. He had never known pain the likes of what Trinel and T’arun had caused within the bond.

"Sp-ock?" Jim was shockingly pale, his hair the only color outside of his uniform. The pulse that beat sluggishly at his throat was the only obvious physical sign that he lived.

"I am here, Jim." He grasped Kirk’s raised hand.

"Am I dead?" he asked, not even opening his eyes.

"No, Jim."

"But you will be if you keep coming to Vulcan," McCoy complained. "Every damn time you show up they try their best to kill you."

Spock assisted Kirk in sitting up, Jim leaning against him, unable to remain upright by himself. "I feel like something chewed and spit out of a Tarquirian slime pond," he managed to mutter. He squinted as if the light were too strong for his eyes and then closed them again, apparently unable to tolerate the discomfort. "What happened?"

"Trinel assessed the bond, Jim."

One hazel eye opened, bloodshot and tearful. "My staff assessments don’t usually consist of breaking my people, do they?"

"Not that I have noticed," Spock admitted. "But remember, I did ask them to determine if the bond would break."

Kirk gave out an irritated grunt. "Did it?"

If Spock had held doubts as to Jim’s true feelings on the subject, the reflexive, fearful note in his voice said much that soothed his concerns.

_It did not. It will not. We are Bonded,_ Spock told him directly.

Kirk relaxed against him, resting his weight more completely on Spock’s strength. The Vulcan closed his eyes, sensing Jim’s wordless relief. He didn’t have time to analyze what it meant now, but he would. He felt Kirk drifting away on a tide of pain and exhaustion. _Sleep now, Jim. All will be well._

"Jim, you okay?"

"He has lost consciousness again, doctor," Spock replied calmly. "Perhaps it is best if we return to the ship." He stood, wavered slightly, (T'arun had been even more zealous in his attempts to break the bond) and lifted his mate carefully, holding him tightly against him.

While McCoy called the ship for transport, Spock looked at the three men watching them, their expressions satisfied. Without words, they had made quite clear exactly what Seyjan had been attempting to advise him for some time.

_We are Bonded._ Torn by elation, relief, and worry, Spock didn’t know quite how to act.

_Jim is mine, and I am his._

That joy was followed by fear. _How will he react? What will he say? How will he respond?_

The transporter beam caught him and one last thought persisted until his atoms separated.

_We are Bonded._


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

 

Jim Kirk had been phasered, stabbed, beaten, whipped, tortured, lost his memory, been possessed, lost in space, split in two, and changed sex in the past five years. But he couldn’t quite remember the last time he had such a skull-crushing headache as this one.

He opened his eyes, groaned as the Sickbay lights stabbed into his retina, and fought back the urge to vomit. Bones was at his side a moment later.

"Jim? How’re you feeling?"

"Please, just . . . kill me."

He heard the doctor chuckle. "Not a chance. I want to wave you off on your honeymoon."

Kirk groaned. "Bastard."

"Chapel, get me ten c.c.’s of maparadine. The Captain has a hangover."

He heard Chapel’s cool voice respond a few minutes later, as she thwacked the hypo with more vigor than necessary into McCoy’s hand. "Ten cc.’s of maparadine, Doctor. The next ship’s surgeon will have to restock, since you’ve made a habit of prescribing it for yourself so often."

Jim chuckled at her sarcasm though even laughter made his head throb. "Thank you, Christine."

"Any time, Captain."

The pressure of the hypospray was enough to make his hair hurt, but he managed not to show his discomfort. Quickly, the intensity of the pain began to ease, and he let out a sigh of relief.

"Lie there for a few minutes more, Jim." McCoy’s humorous tone faded. "I really do think you might want to avoid Vulcan in the future. Every time you land on that damned planet, you come back, if not dead, then too damned near it for your surgeon to like."

Kirk hazarded to open his eyes. McCoy had lowered the lighting to a more gentle level and his eyes didn’t attempt to squeeze back into their sockets this time. "That bad?"

"That bad," McCoy affirmed soberly, his face lined with worry. "If I’d known what it was going to do to you, I would have prevented their attempt to break the bond."

Jim digested that. There was too much near-death going on between himself and Spock lately. "Thanks, Bones."

McCoy patted his shoulder, the silent equivalent of 'me, too.' "Seyjan wants to speak with you; he came up with us when we brought you back to the ship."

"What about?" Kirk asked as he gingerly sat up. Nothing fell out of his head or his gut, though he had the lowering feeling that it should have.

"Won’t tell me. Says its private."

_Damned Vulcans,_ he could almost hear McCoy say. _Everything’s a secret with them._

Kirk couldn’t argue with that. He knew it all too well.

"You’re off-duty for at least 48 hours, Captain," McCoy told him, marking up with a stylus the report he’d laid to the side. The use of his title instead of his name was intended to remind him that if he disobeyed, Bones was more that ready to toss him back into Sickbay for however long it took for him to regain his health.

"Right, Bones," he answered with a frown. "I . . .  feel like my ship ran me over," he rubbed the back of his neck, the muscles so tense no doubt they were contributing to the overall pain, "so I’m not arguing."

"That’s a pleasant change."

"Enjoy it while it lasts." Kirk slid off the bed. If his knees didn’t quite feel like maintaining his weight at first, they soon got the hang of it. Leaving Sickbay, he wasn’t surprised when Spock fell into step beside him.

"Captain?"

"Evening, Spock," Jim told him with a wry smile. "I’m on sick call for 48, but I want to sneak up to the bridge for a few minutes before I head to quarters."

"As you wish."

"How are you?"

"I am well, Captain."

_Well, that’s informative_ , he thought to himself, before turning his attention to his sense of Spock. He could easily feel his companion’s concern for him, along with a concentration of worry formed into a little knot that skittered away from him whenever he attempted to focus upon it. Deciding that Deck Five was hardly the place to discuss the issue of their now conjoined lives, he let it go for the moment.

Showing himself to the bridge personnel was the best remedy for their concern, and the understated but understood fears of the entire crew. No one rested well when the Captain was ill; it was a fact of life aboard any ship. The Captain was the glue; while Spock could and had held the crew together on more than one occasion, Kirk was well aware that performance levels always rose when he returned to the Captain’s chair, his presence adding cohesion to the myriad interactions of the 430 people under his command who trusted him to keep them alive and well. The grapevine would report him wan, but functional, and he could rest without being worried about them.

Thinking about all the paperwork he could plow through during his enforced hiatus from command, he bounced lightly against the wall near his quarters, losing his balance for a moment. Spock’s reassuring strength surreptitiously kept him from alarming any passers-by and they made it to Jim’s quarters quickly.

He immediately headed for his bed, hoping that closing his eyes would prevent the nauseating sway that warned he was overdoing it. With his usual efficiency, Spock stripped him to briefs and tucked him under the covers. Warm, gentle fingers rested against his face, and within moments, the pain and nausea began to recede.

"Thank you."

"You’re welcome, Jim. Try to rest. You have been through a difficult experience." The voice was moving away as he spoke, and Jim interrupted. "Where are you going?"

"I thought it best if you slept alone tonight. You would be more comfortable."

"You thought wrong." Jim patted the bed. "Come on, get in."

He heard Spock sigh, but the soft slither of cloth told him that he was being obeyed. When Spock was finally by his side, Kirk felt himself relax.

"I’m new to bonds, but I swear that I’d feel better sooner if we spend more time together than we have lately."

"You are insightful, as always," the Vulcan rumbled in his ear. "The bond is stressed; it will tolerate no more ignorance of its nature and requirements."

"So you’ve got a headache too."

"I cannot seem to alleviate my own discomfort within the bond at the moment, even though I have attempted to meditate."

Kirk cut through the words, as he so often did. He shifted until he was pressing his shoulder against Spock’s chest. "Better?"

Spock moved his arm, resting it against Jim’s, skin against skin. "Yes."

Jim smiled. His head stopped throbbing, and his gut calmed. He marveled that the bond required such a little adjustment to cause immediate satisfaction. _Just a touch._

_Yes. To paraphrase a guiding precept: What the bond demands, you supply or, suffer the consequences._

Jim digested that. _Is that what Seyjan wants to discuss with me? The guiding precepts?_

_In part._

Kirk was too tired to start pulling answers out of Spock, even if he had the patience. His body was rushing him toward sleep and he just let it take him.

 

 

Between McCoy's mother-hen routine and Spock's efficacious though understated care, Kirk felt much better the next day. Well enough that he wanted the discussion with Seyjan to occur, so that they could leave Vulcan and return to Earth. The ship was ready, and so was her Captain.

Seyjan entered with his usual cool, somber detachment, but there was a sparkle of pleasure in the dark green depths that Jim detected. They met in his office, a place with more room and comfort for two men to talk than his quarters. As Seyjan bowed slightly, Jim dipped his head, and then asked, "Would you like tea, Seyjan?"

He accepted and took the time to look around the office. There was a round table with chairs, large enough for a meeting of three. On top of the bookcase against the wall, there stood a variety of _Enterprise_ replicas through the ages, from the French frigate _L’Enterprise_ , to its present incarnation. Below them and safely housed behind acrylo-steel doors were Kirk's prized collection of paper books. The rest of it contained manuals, technical journals, a holostudy of _Enterprise_ as well as various gifts he had received from the planets the ship had visited.

Kirk ordered the tea from the food replicator, as well as coffee for himself. They settled around the table, silently drinking.

"You are feeling better, Captain?"

"Much better, thank you." Pleasantries extended, Kirk asked, "There was something you wished to discuss with me?"

The white-haired head inclined thoughtfully. "Indeed. With regards to your pairing with Spock."

Jim didn’t say anything. If Seyjan thought Kirk needed to be reminded that a relationship with a Vulcan would be difficult, it was an issue he had already dealt with over the past five years.

"I have never counseled a Human-Vulcan bonded pair before, Captain. I expect it to be a fascinating experience."

Jim nodded, and wondered how long this was going to take. He still had efficiency reports—

"I see you are impatient to continue your work."

The Captain glanced up from his coffee, and gave an embarrassed grin. "Remind me never to play chess with you, Master Healer."

Seyjan took a moment to sip at his tea before he spoke, appearing to choose his words carefully. "It is to be expected that your return to Earth would be primary in your thoughts. But please attend to what I have to say. It could save your life."

Jim put down his cup. "My life?"

"Indeed. Do I have your attention, now, Captain?"

Kirk leaned forward and prepared to listen. "You do."

"Excellent. Then we shall begin." The Vulcan took another sip of his tea before he said, "You have feelings for Spock, outside of your position as his Captain."

It was a startling statement, one that Seyjan apparently considered a fact, not even a semblance of doubt shading his baritone voice. Jim had no idea of the ramifications to Spock of anything that was said here, and erred on the side of caution. "I’m his friend."

Seyjan gifted him with an impish smile. "Forgive my bluntness, Captain, but a bond of this depth does not form from mere friendship."

Jim didn’t respond; he was too nonplussed by what the healer had just said to him and its implications.

"No matter how it formed, there are certain issues with regards to Vulcan bonds that must be addressed. Forgive me if you are aware of many of these, but I would be remiss if I did not at least warn you of their existence."

Kirk frowned, his reports forgotten. "What issues?"

"You are now bonded to a Vulcan male. You are his." Kirk’s eyes widened. "Not property, _per se_ , but indisputably a part of him. He will not tolerate anything that interferes with that relationship. As a human, I know that casual touch is a part of your culture, but it will disturb Spock, as he can receive the thoughts of others through his bond with you. The habit should be discontinued."

He was still digesting that when Seyjan hit him with, "Your previous casual sexual liaisons must stop. Spock will see them as a refutation of both the bond and himself and will respond accordingly."

While he hadn’t given it any thought, and wasn’t even sure he was interested in finding anyone right now, he didn’t like being told he _couldn’t_. "And if I choose to take a lover?"

A long, silvered eyebrow rose. "Your bond-mate will go mad in very short order, murder you, the person you are with, anyone attempting to protect you or interfere, and then himself.”

Jim gawked at him.

“I truly hope you will see the wisdom in refraining."

_But Spock’s so gentle. . . ._ His thoughts must have shown on his face.

"These are not aspects of his biology that he can change, Captain, or that any outside of Vulcan are normally privy to. Violence is so deeply engrained within our race that many types of bonds existed long before Surak’s Principles came into being."

Seyjan hesitated for only a moment before continuing, "You are his mate. When his time comes, he will seek you out. Only you. No one else will be acceptable. I suggest you find a place where you can be alone for a period of time of approximately ten Earth days. Given that you are human and easily injured by Vulcan strength, a physician should be on stand-by status, in the event you are hurt during the _pon farr_."

Kirk finally closed his mouth and breathed deeply. "This is all a little much to take in, Seyjan."

"Yes, Captain, I know.” The sharp gaze softened and the healer gave him a wry smile. “Please be aware of a saying on Vulcan that roughly translates into, ‘Within the family, all is silence.’ It means that you will not discuss family matters outside of the circle of Spock’s family; you will not discuss any Vulcan information that you would not have come across in the practice of your work; and most importantly, you will maintain Spock’s privacy above all else."

"I’m Human, not indiscreet," Kirk snapped, beginning to get a little irritated with Seyjan’s superior tone.

"I am pleased to hear it. There is usually a ceremony on Vulcan; given that you are returning to Earth, it will have to be delayed or even dispensed with. Spock will no doubt advise his parents of his bonding; it is an occasion of joy to the family, knowing that Spock need not die of the madness."

Jim didn’t remark on the strained relations between father and son, which had been slightly improved on the journey to Babel.

"Sarek has been unable to procure a bond contract for his son, given that Spock is both half-Human and probably sterile. After T’Pring rejected him in favor of Stonn, it was widely believed that the son of Sarek would die during this next time. You can see why the Lady Amanda will be relieved."

Jim smiled and nodded. "Yes," he murmured, well aware of how much she loved her son. "Are there any cultural norms that are required when we’re on Vulcan?"

Seyjan favored him with a pleased expression in the dark green gaze. "It is a good question, Captain, but no. Male-male bondings have a certain prestige on Vulcan, deriving from the warrior society of old. It will seem most logical that Spock has chosen a male partner, though his choice of a Human will not be seen with the same regard. Many will view it as Sarek’s absurdity being passed down to his son, this childish consorting with Humans. I do not mean this as an insult, Captain, I assure you. I only wish to advise you of what you can be prepared to face."

"Like the woman at the Temple yesterday."

"Yes.” Seyjan sighed. “Maris’ ill concealment of her position on the subject is indicative of many others.  You and Spock may face mockery, scorn, disdain, and derision, but only in the most subtle sense. Maris, living within the Temple her entire existence, has few, if any, social graces, and her ridicule of you and your mate will be greatly punished. My brother, Trinel, will see to it. He has little patience with her intransigence."

Jim waved that aside. "And Spock’s had to deal with this kind of . . . contempt . . . his entire life?"

The silvered head nodded. "From an early age. You must see that his decision to attend Star Fleet was seen as a rejection of all that is Vulcan?"

Kirk nodded. "No wonder T’Pau was so annoyed when we came to Vulcan the first time," he murmured, almost to himself.

"Spock’s great-grandmother was indeed, annoyed, Captain. Your very presence contaminated the very ground you walked, bled and died upon. Dr. McCoy’s ingenuity saved your life and freed Spock from one of the most manipulative women I have ever had the misfortune to meet."

Kirk chuckled. "I didn’t like her either."

Seyjan smiled gently. "Obviously."

The rest of what the healer had said filtered through and an alarmed flag went off in his head. "Wait a minute— _great-grandmother_?" he asked, astonished.

"Yes. Though Sarek is the head of the House of Surak, and has been since his own father’s death, T’Pau is its matriarch, a position she absented to serve the planet. The matriarch is a title with little formal power; it is an honorific at this time, nothing more."

"The House of Surak?" Jim thought he was dreaming. None of this was ever noted in any Federation files regarding Sarek or Spock.

"Indeed, the most powerful of all the great houses of Vulcan. Sarek wields a great deal of wealth and influence; he is admired for his intellect, diplomacy and patience, though not his personal affairs."

"Are you telling me that I just married into what amounts to the ruling family of Vulcan?"

Seyjan considered. "Given that both Sarek and T’Pau are members of the Council . . . I can say that your assumption is correct, if not the details."

Jim dropped his head as it started to pound again. "Starfleet is not going to be happy with me."

"That, I fear, Captain, may be understatement.”


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Spock sat at the terminal in his quarters, and reviewed the message that sat on his computer screen . . . then erased it for the third time that evening. His parents were not currently on Vulcan, yet it was imperative that he advise them of his Bonding prior to their hearing it from anyone else, or through another venue. Still, he hesitated.

While he was aware of his mother's probable reaction, one of relief and perhaps, satisfaction, that he had chosen a Human, it was Sarek's response that concerned him. They had both made concerted efforts to maintain a more informal relationship since the journey to Babel, one where they could speak with one another upon occasion without sharp words being uttered. Sarek might never understand his son's reasons for choosing Star Fleet, but he could hardly argue with Spock's choice of partner.

 _His_ choice.

And therein lay the question. _Did I Choose Jim? Did I make the decision prior to the Bond? Am I currently hiding my own motivation in saving Kirk from the Di'Shan? And in doing so, have I made an error that will resolve in my own madness and death? While Kirk is an honorable man, is it even possible for him to refrain from the type of behavior that would precipitate in my severing the Bond?_

Jim's entrance into his quarters startled the Vulcan, so deeply entrenched had he been in his own thoughts. Kirk appeared pensive and sat down on Spock's bed with a heaviness that spoke more of mental than physical weariness. "I spoke with Seyjan today."

Spock immediately blanked his expression and waited.

There were shadows under the remarkable hazel eyes, but their depths held only a calm certainty. "He didn't beat around the bush any about what I could expect from our bonding."

The Vulcan fought not to flush. Just to listen to this was mortifying and he could barely stay in the chair. Such things were never discussed. His hands grasped the edges in an attempt to hold him there the metal creaking beneath his fingers.

Jim's answering smile was a charming, wry vision, his eyes shining even through his exhaustion. "I just wanted you to know . . . I understand. About . . . all of it. I won't do anything that's going to embarrass your family, or you. At least, I hope I won't."

"As though you could," Spock murmured, suddenly understanding the expression of 'having his heart in his throat.' It was a far more difficult experience for Vulcan physiology.

"Thank you, Spock. I — I just wanted you to know that. . . ." His voice trailed off and the Vulcan waited impatiently.

"What, Jim?" he finally asked.

"I don't quite know what it means, but when Trinel was trying to break the Bond . . . I didn't want him to. Even though I knew it would be better for you . . . I didn't want to give it up. _You_ , up. It's selfish and petty, mean and greedy — all the things I don't want to see in myself, but there it is. I wanted to be the person that you lavished that incredible mind on, wanted to be the only person who was that special to you. So, I held on, and damn near killed myself doing it. Bones is not happy with me."

Self-loathing playing on the handsome features, Kirk continued, "And I'm sure that you're probably not pleased with me either. I destroyed your chance of having a relatively normal life. Set you up for more of what your home world always gave you too damned much of: disdain. And I wanted to say that I'm sorry."

"You Chose me?" Spock asked, more stunned then he could remember being in his life. "You . . . Chose . . . _me_?"

Jim straightened his back and pulled his tunic down, a pugnacious set coming to his jaw, an unyielding expression settling on his face that warned of his determination. "I did. Of course I did. And I'd do it again."

Spock could not speak the emotion that swept him in words. He sent a breath of his inner pleasure at Jim's admission across the bond, following it with his own hesitation to break the Bond, though aware that it would have been the best for Kirk.

Jim relaxed and shook his head, the tense posture slowly fading from his stiff body. "We're both dumber than a bag of rocks, as my mother would say."

"Somewhat obtuse perhaps," Spock allowed, a small smile creeping onto his lips, his amazement at their poor communication leaving him somewhat bewildered.

They stared at each other for an eon or two, neither be able to find words that would explain what they were feeling.

"What are you working on?" Jim asked abruptly, rising to look over his shoulder. "Have to tell the captain of this ship that he works you too hard."

"I look forward to listening to that conversation."

Jim grinned as Spock spun around to the blank screen, by common, silent consent, setting aside the emotions that could easily overtake them both through the bond. "I am attempting to advise my parents of our Bonding."

Jim frowned. "Doesn't look as though you've gotten too far."

"I have not. I am having difficulty finding the right words."

"Hmm. Well, there's nothing you can do about how they're going to react. And it's better that the news come from you rather than any other way."

"I agree. But how to say it?"

Jim leaned over Spock to get to the keypad. "How about:

 

**Mother & Father:**

 

"I had gotten that far myself."

"Hold your horses," Jim ordered.

 

**Mother & Father:**

**Greetings.**

 

"Stiff. Ineloquent."

"Would you please shut up?" Jim snapped. "I'm trying to help here."

Spock favored him with a raised eyebrow and crossed arms. "Please proceed."

Jim turned back to the screen.

 

**I am writing to advise you that I have been Bonded. I am the proud mate of James T. Kirk, my Captain and friend. While the cir—**

 

Jim stared at the screen. This wasn't working. "Why aren't you sending a vid by subspace squirt?"

"My mother prefers written letters."

Jim grimaced. "Time is of the essence here."

Spock sighed. "Agreed."

"We'll do it together."

They sat side by side on the bed so the monitor could catch both of them in the picture.

"Where are they, anyway? I thought they might have been at the Hall of Souls yesterday."

"Away from Earth and Vulcan on ambassadorial business, so my father's secretary informs me. We will send this to S'rish on Earth and he will forward it to wherever my parents are."

"They don't even tell you where they're going?"

Spock inclined his head gracefully. "I do not need to know."

Jim thought of how he'd feel if his mother went gallivanting around the universe without telling him. He understood that these were two completely different cases, and that Vulcans weren't the warm and fuzzy types, but still. . . .

He sat up and got ready to talk to two people he barely knew, and who were now a part of his family. _Telling Mom is going be a snap after this._

It took four tries before Spock was satisfied with the message, but finally, it was on its way. Jim leaned back on the bed, his feet on the floor, elbows holding him up. "We'll be at Space dock in a few days. From all reports, most of the crew plan to remain in Fleet.”

“Many wish only to return to _Enterprise_. Under your command.”

Jim groaned and fell back, rubbing his hands over his eyes. “I know. But I have no idea where Fleet will put me while _Enterprise_ is being refitted. That alone’ll take two years. I know that Mr. Scott has already been given his orders that after his leave, he’s to return and command the refit. Bones is going home for a while, but then he’s got orders to teach at the Academy, while simultaneously re-writing the Starship CMO training system, do research, and complete ghod alone knows how many papers.”

Spock continued. “Lieutenant Uhura will become part of a research team at the VSA, in an attempt to analyze the Chriugian spatial language. She has stated that she is “thrilled” at the opportunity. Chekov has been transferred as junior science officer to the _Aerie,_ a research vessel that will skirt the Neutral Zone and analyze their communications, in an attempt to learn more of their culture.”

“He’s a little anxious about that; he wants to be as good as you are,” Jim commented. “And Sulu is taking on command as first officer of the starship _Kitty Hawke._ He deserves it.”

“Indeed. All have expressed interest in returning to _Enterprise_ upon her recommission,” Spock concluded.

“They’re all damned fine officers. I’m proud to have served with them.”

“I would concur. It cannot be ignored that you have greatly assisted their careers by insisting upon departmental cross-training and command experience, Jim.”

Kirk shrugged. “That’s my job. You and I won’t be doing this forever and we’ll need them when the time comes.”

“Has Star Fleet Command given you no inkling of their plans for you?” Spock asked.

“Nope. Nothing but enigmatic comments that I’ll be busy.”

“You are worried.”

“Yes, I am. I don’t want to be stuck behind a desk for longer than a few years, Spock. It’s not where I belong.”

The Vulcan was well aware that Kirk would not be able to stand being away from space and the ship he admittedly loved for long. “Agreed. We must work together to prevent that from coming to pass.”

Jim rolled over to his side, holding up his head with one hand. “And you? You’ve been particularly close with whatever plans Fleet has for you.”

Spock sighed and crossed his arms against his chest. “They are insisting that I take on command. I have refused. Again. I have stated a preference for serving with you, wherever you are posted.”

Kirk smiled. “I think that’s a given, now.”

“On the contrary. It is not necessary for bonded pairs to live together, Jim. Some Vulcans serve in different areas of the galaxy and only come together when required.” A dark eyebrow rose. “Yet I do not see that as being efficient in our case.”

Trying to think of being apart from Spock by a room at the moment was difficult, but a galaxy? “I don’t either,” Jim admitted, “but Fleet doesn’t promise that married couples serve together. Sometimes it’s just a matter of who is needed where. And you’re a very valuable commodity.”

“Perhaps. Nevertheless, as a Vulcan and in this instance, I will make our serving together mandatory.”

Jim felt a frisson of warning shoot over his skin. “Spock?” he drawled. “What are you planning?”

“Nothing, as yet, Jim. My plans will depend on in what manner Commodore Saris responds to our bonding, and future postings.”

Jim could sense the adamantine will inside those soft words and he had a moment’s pity for Saris. And then, with childish glee, he wanted to be a fly on the wall for that conversation. Spock in superior Vulcan mode, when it wasn’t directed at him, was damned fun to watch. The Admiral wouldn’t know what hit him.

“I’m not looking forward to the public relations rigmarole we can expect when we get back. I used to just slip away from the circus before I made captain, but somehow I doubt Saris’ going to let me do that this time.”

Spock nodded in agreement. “Public appearances. Cocktail parties. Dinners. Speeches. All tedious, but necessary for the image of the Fleet.”

The captain groaned. “I hate giving speeches. Always feel like I’m speaking Garblish and no one understands a word I’m saying.”

The thought of Kirk even attempting to get his simple vocal anatomy to produce the most complicated verbal language in the known galaxy was sufficient to silence Spock for a moment. “You, most assuredly, do not speak Garblish, Jim. Your speeches are, in fact, remarkably succinct, if overly emotive.”

Kirk chuckled. “Well, that’s a rousing endorsement.” He waved his arm. “Go meditate. I’m going to lie here and contemplate my eyelids.”

The Vulcan responded with a small smile that his mate did not see, and obeyed.

While his quarters were not large, they were sufficient to house his few necessary possessions. No Vulcan left his home planet without a green-gold firepot, which contained sand taken by hand from the Forge, the most ferocious desert ecology on the planet. Normally, the flame within was held at a temperature that would show only the reddest heat, but in deference to ship’s systems, Spock had to make due with a photosensitive cell that emulated the flickering colors successfully.

The fire within was to remind every Vulcan of the fire they themselves contained, the violent natures they wrestled with on a daily basis in their constant battle to maintain mastery of their emotions. It served well as a warning; should the temperature within the pot exceed a certain level, the heat would warp the metal into molten black slag, and the sand within would fuse and burn. A convoluted atonement would immediately need to be performed, including forging of another pot, journeying for more sand . . . and leaving a few ounces of the owner’s blood within the new pot as a reminder of the loss of control. By their stringent societal norms, the loss of a firepot was indicative of poor mental health and subsequent loss of status.

Failure was rarely considered an option on Vulcan.

Spock remembered the day he was sent to the desert area outside the Forge where the pots were formed by each individual who had passed into adulthood. He had sensed his father’s anxiety regarding this task and knew he must not perform poorly. The task required that he mold the hot metal at the correct temperature, so that the best colors would shine forth. He had felt other, condescending, eyes upon him as he worked and in response, had not only managed to create a pot that was in the correct color and formation, but also chose to decorate it at top and bottom with a serif pattern. Considering that the decoration was also done by hand, at considerable pain to his fingers and hands, the masters themselves complemented him on his talent. After that trial, walking out onto the Forge to scoop sufficient sand had been simple and quickly done. His father’s eyes had shone with silent pride. . . .

Concluding his meditations quickly, he turned to look upon Kirk. He was asleep, fully dressed and in an awkward position, his head pillowed on one arm. Spock rose, and indulgently shifted him to a more comfortable position before undressing him. He swallowed as Kirk lay on his back before him, naked except for his briefs. There was no reason now not to consummate the bond . . . other than the stark clarity that neither of them were prepared for intimacy at this time. Yet it did not prevent Spock from looking and enjoying the sight. His mate was, after all, a very handsome man.

Undressing himself, he slipped underneath the blanket, ordered the computer to turn off the lights, and composed himself for sleep.

 

 

The night before the _Enterprise_ was to arrive at Space Dock, the usual formal farewell party was held. While the main event was held in the hangar deck, the shuttlecraft tucked away to either side, the convivial atmosphere extended throughout the entire ship. People finagled their duty schedules so that necessary posts were manned, but everyone attended one of the parties held throughout the ship, which began at 1900 and continued until the synthesizers broke down or 0500, whichever came first.

Kirk, who could be as much a martinet as any commander in Fleet, would allow his crew their excess, but would be on duty himself all night. He was due at McCoy’s party sometime that evening and quite a few others where he knew his presence would make a difference. But first, he had to get into his dress uniform. And curse.

Spock, already splendidly attired in his own blue satin jacket, sat primly upon Kirk’s bed, watching. “It is loose,” he noted.

Though Jim was very surprised at that, since Bones was always going on about the five pounds that often crept around his waistline when he wasn’t looking, it was the next procedure that irritated him. “I’m not wearing them,” he snapped.

The Vulcan made a sound much like a sigh. “Jim. You know, as well as I, that for a formal occasion you must wear the medals that you have received. Especially as their will be holos and vids taken this evening. Starfleet becomes . . . irked when their officers are not dressed properly for public events.”

“This isn’t a public event. This is my ship.” He closed his dresser drawer with a definitive thud that signaled the end of the slight argument. “Bad enough I’ll have to wear them for the media and all the other hoops they’ll want us to hop through. The whole thing makes me feel like I’m being set up for a real dog and pony show,” Kirk grumbled sourly.

“And which would I be? The dog . . . or the pony?”

Spock’s dry-as-dust delivery made him laugh, as it was surely intended to.

“I’m being cranky.”

“Indeed.”

Jim sat down next to him, out of habit making certain he didn’t wrinkle the jacket. “I know. But you have to understand . . . as much as I’m glad to be going home . . . there’s a part of me that really doesn’t want to give her up.”

“It is not forever, if you do not wish it so.”

“How can we be sure of that? Fleet will do what it wants, put me wherever it thinks will be the best place for the service, not necessarily for me. And I hate the idea of grounding you too.”

Spock’s dark gaze was soothing. “I will go wherever you go, Jim. I believe I have made that clear. As for your future, we both know where your best destiny lies, and that is to return to _Enterprise_. Between us, we shall make that happen. But for now, there are at least a dozen parties that you have promised to attend, now that all ship’s duties are completed.”

“I’m in no great hurry. Anything more from Fleet?”

“I have received an agenda of events I am to attend within the next month, subject to change.”

“Yes, I got a similar note as well as an open meeting with Nogura. Should be interesting,” Jim told him with a pat on his thigh as he rose.

Spock grasped his hand before he could step away. “Just remember that we are not without resources of our own. We achieve much together.”

Jim stared down at him, and a rush of warmth through the bond made him smile. “The best team in ‘Fleet.”

“And out,” his Vulcan reminded, before rising to his feet, pulling his jacket to perfect smoothness and ushering his mate out the door of his quarters.

 

 

Jim was alone when he walked the decks of his ship early the next morning.

He would be on the bridge when _Enterprise_ made her slow and stately way into Space Dock, but he wanted this early morning quiet in which to say farewell, if not goodbye, to the ship that had carried them all so far, with such steadfastness of spirit. He didn’t know whether all captains felt this, way but he had noted long ago, while still in the corn fields of Iowa and poring over books about space explorers, that the good ones had an appreciable affection for their vessels that never quite dissipated. And of course, they were always "she," as though the tritium alloys and antimatter engines, circuits, relays, and conduits of the ship had a life all their own, separate and apart from the humans who trod their decks, safe and secure from the unforgiving atmosphere outside the shining skin.

It was near 0500 by the time he arrived at the main observation deck. Only a few stragglers were left from the ship-wide festivities, and they quickly departed upon spying their captain, leaving him his privacy and the silence. _Enterprise_ had dropped out of warp a few moments ago, the rumble beneath his feet turning to the gentle vibration of impulse power. He laid one hand on the transparent tritium that made up the window, and took a last look at the stars before giving a gentle sigh, straightening his shoulders, and turning away.

A number of crew stood outside the doors and he smiled. Many had finished their last duty shift and were waiting for _Enterprise_ to enter Space Dock. It was a chance to see Earth from space, as well as the huge moon facility, and he didn't admonish them for it. For those on shift, Uhura would make sure that the view as they entered was piped to all screens, so that no one felt they had missed it.

All of Alpha shift were on the bridge when he arrived. His senior officers stood when he arrived on the bridge, and he nodded his appreciation at this sign of respect and took the center seat.

Bones leaned on the back of it. "Ready to try your land legs, Jim?" he asked softly, so that no one else would hear over the activity of preparing the ship for docking procedures.

"Easy as she goes," Kirk told Sulu, and then turned his head slightly. "I'd rather be starting another five-year mission, Bones. You know that."

"I do. But I also know that you could do with a break. You and that pointy-eared calculator over there."

Spock ignored them, even though Jim was sure the Vulcan's sharp ears had heard McCoy's comment.

"Bones," he growled anyway, more out of habit than concern that Spock's feelings were hurt. Spock wasn't sensitive to things like that; well, at least not from McCoy.

The doctor ignored his chastisement, as was usual. The relationship with between the first officer and the doctor was easily as complex as his own with McCoy. They were friends, even family, but the lines in the sand were real and not to be easily tread upon. He decided to change the subject, whatever that was. "Have you finally decided where you're off to, once you've finished debriefing?" Each officer would be analyzed by their superiors, and depending upon rank, such an analysis could make or break a career. He had no doubts that McCoy, with a mix of irascibility and plain common sense, would deal with anyone who chose to point out any discrepancies in his record.

He listened with half an ear to McCoy's plans as he went through the docking procedure with Spock and Sulu. Jim wasn't looking forward to his own debriefing. He'd bent, broken, or occasionally burned the Prime Directive in effigy a few times during this mission when he'd felt it necessary, and he didn't feel at all apologetic about it. No doubt the armchair admirals would have one or two things to say to him about that, but he didn’t believe it would be firm argument with which to ground him. Still, worse things had been done in the name of Fleet political conformity.

When _Enterprise_ finally stopped all movement and drifted softly into her docking station with a shiver of impact, Kirk let out a quiet sigh, echoed by Scott from his position on the left of the bridge.

"Well done, everyone," Kirk said, before hitting the toggle on his chair arm. "All hands, all hands, this is the captain. Secure all stations and make way to the transporter rooms according to the assignments you received from Mr. Spock. For those of you moving on to other ships and positions, let me say again that it has truly been my pleasure to serve with all of you, and my honor to be your captain." He waited a moment, then repeated, "All hands, secure stations and disembark. Kirk out."

He snapped the toggle again and looked at the men and women around him, who had been there through the spectacular successes, the fraught failures, and especially the terrifying tragedies. They'd lost shipmates too often, too young, too brave. They'd met the most amazing creatures and earned the title of flagship of the Fleet.

He could see his emotions mirrored in their eyes, the awareness that wherever they went this moment could never hope to be repeated. Oh, there would be other ships, other commanders, other crews, but never like this one. There were tears in Chekov's and Uhura's eyes, excitement and pride in Sulu's, tension in Leslie's, melancholy in Scott's. In Bones he saw the exhaustion and sadness that the captain dared not show. When he came to Spock, he saw the Vulcan's perfect awareness of the now. And he smiled.

"Spock, Bones, with me. The rest of you . . . don't be strangers. Let me know where you land. You know to contact either Spock or myself if you have any issues with your debriefing." All heads nodded, and he ran out of things to say. Rising from this command seat for the last time was harder than he thought it would be, and he gave the armrest a final stroke before moving, striding to the turbolift, Spock and Bones behind him, and didn't look back.

 


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

 

The next few days were a jumble of parties and interviews. None of the command crew even slept the first twenty-four hours, only taking fast showers and even faster naps, before a clean uniform was brought by an obliging yeoman, and on they went to the next event. Kirk couldn't remember a time when a returning 'Fleet ship had become such news on the Nets. As soon as they had stepped off the shufflecraft on Earth, a public relations officer by the name of Lori Ciani attached herself to them and started to explain their itinerary for the day.

Spock's loathing for the "circus," as he called the various media attentions they were showered with, was apparent to Jim, but he didn't make it obvious to anyone else. Spock knew how to play the game as well as his captain; politics was a necessary skill when dealing with 'Fleet and their demands. So they'd made speeches, given interviews, and in Jim's case, laughed with vid show hosts, 'Fleet politicians, ancient admirals and commodores, and in general, played the role of returning soldier.

Sometimes it was all he could do not to scream and remind them what it cost in lives, in plain blood, sweat and tears, to keep space safe for the Federation populace. And then he'd feel Spock's soft mental stroke calming him, soothing his impatience, Lori's hand on his arm, and he'd settle back into his chair and smile, smile, smile.

 

 

Lori Ciani was a very attractive brunette, petite, and with a megawatt smile that could instantly turn any man into an interested party.

If Jim was surprised that he didn't respond to her blatant fascination with him, he chalked it up to being tired, but not the type of weariness that any amount of cat-naps could cure. It wasn't until the strain of command was lifted from his shoulders that he felt the exhaustion Bones had tried to warn him about. He was an extraordinarily fit man in the prime of his life, but even that could only go so far. The young public relations officer didn't seem to notice his lack of attention. She just continued attempting to lure him into a tryst or two, without any subtlety or discretion. At every event they attended together, which was most, she was on his arm, claiming him, warning all other intruders off with a smile and a comment. Women faded away with wan smiles. Seeing it through a haze of other concerns and priorities, he found it humorous. He'd had women try to monopolize him before, but once they realized he wasn't interested, they usually dropped the pretense. Lori didn't seem to be getting any of the usual hints. He refused her bed carefully, and was constantly unwinding the woman from around his anatomy.

Thankfully, Spock was also by his side, a soothing presence in the melee of media attention. Though he rarely ever touched Kirk in public, the gentle aura of possession and protection flared brightly in his hooded eyes, and often even made the conspicuous and unfaltering attentions of Ms. Ciani more bearable.

When they finally made their way to the temporary quarters next to Star Fleet Central, Jim was surprised to find that everyone had peeled off except for Spock. He didn't even remember Lori leaving.

"I'm more tired then I thought. Where'd everybody go?"

Spock palmed the doorlock and it opened with a soft gust of air. "You are exhausted. I excused us from further events until a proper schedule can be forwarded."

Jim gave a weary grin and pulled at the next of his dress tunic. The green-gold satin released him with a satisfying tearing sound. "Thanks, Spock. How long have we be running like this?"

"Three days, 22 hours, and 17 minutes."

"In other words, too long."

"Indeed."

Jim sighed and looked around. It was a typical Starfleet residence, but a little more expansive. The living room was large, appropriate for entertaining, with a small bar and cooler off to the right, and a large window that overlooked San Francisco bay. The bedroom had a large bed and an armoire that was part of the wall and flipped out. It was spotlessly clean, per Starfleet standards, and Jim found he didn't care about any of it. He wanted to take a long, hot, water shower and fall into bed.

Spock had already started the shower, and he chivvied Jim up and into it, removing his clothing and tossing them into a cycle chute for cleaning. He did the same with his own, entering the shower with Jim.

"Spock? You don't like water showers. Desert ecology and physiology, remember?"

"I believe I can tolerate a shower, Jim. Besides, you are too tired to do more than lean against the wall while I bathe you. Is that not true?"

Jim grumbled, but he couldn't argue. More than once he'd fallen asleep in the shower cubicle on the _Enterprise,_ only to wake up cramped and cold when Spock entered the room to bathe himself.

Spock's hands were already on him, a large cloth stroking gently over his skin. The heat felt wonderful and he began to unwind under his friend's care.

He expected Fleet to get difficult about their perception that Spock was being held back by him, and not accepting a promotion because due to his attachment to Kirk. Yet, previously, Spock had often made his preferences clear: he didn't want command. Period.

"Stop thinking," a deep baritone murmured, as Spock dried him carefully.

"Can't."

"You will, _thy'la_."

And the quiet of deep sleep was all Jim knew for a long time.

 

 

"You knocked me out," Jim muttered when he woke. It was afternoon and his stomach rumbled.

Spock was reading at a terminal by the window of their bedroom and looked over at him. "I did." There was no apology in his voice and the dark eyes held none either. "You required rest."

He grimaced. "Weren't there places we needed to be this morning?"

"There were, but I reminded 'Fleet that you had just returned from a five-year mission and required sleep in order to function as they required. There was the possibility that as fatigued as you were, you could say almost anything in an exhausted and inebriated state."

"I wasn't drinking, Spock," Jim countered, sitting up, waiting for the expected light sway of the ship beneath him and not finding it. "And I'm a Starfleet officer; I know better than to let my tongue get away with me."

"Undoubtedly. Yet, I believe Doctor McCoy did press a scotch and soda on you at the last event, Jim. So, you did—"

"All right, all right. I also know better than to argue with you when you've got your mind made up." The room swayed a little, but he managed to get to his feet and wound the sheet around him.

"Your debriefing has been scheduled for the day after tomorrow at 0800, as has mine. You are to meet Admirals Nogura, Hayes, and Federstein at the Executive Dining Room in Fleet Command."

"Interesting place for a debriefing. One last meal before I'm sentenced?"

Spock ignored that. "The rest of the crew has also been programmed efficiently, as not to interfere with their off-duty prior to returning to their assignments."

Jim thought about that. Spock, though technically no longer the first officer of the _Enterprise_ , was caring for the details with commendable precision. "Everyone checked in?"

"They have. Mr. Scott has already been debriefed, as has Doctor McCoy. Other than both of their complaints regarding the unrealistic requirements of Starfleet staff, neither had any difficulty. They will contact you in a few days time."

"Good. I don’t expect any of the others to have any problems, either. It's us I'm worried about."

"Worried, Jim?" Spock asked, his head canted questioningly, the afternoon sun gleaming off his darker-than-night hair.

They were interrupted by the ding of the food processor. Jim eagerly tore into a large breakfast, while Spock ate his salad. "Yes, worried," Kirk continued when he took a break from his pancakes. "We broke a few directives, my friend. 'Fleet gets cranky about things like that."

"Considering the manner in which you have been received on Earth, the fetes, parties, etc., it is doubtful that any discrepancies will be strongly complained about. I am certain that it will be a requirement, nothing more."

"Well, let's wish for the best, and prepare for the worst," Kirk told him with a grin. He wolfed down the rest of his food and, determined to meet whatever came with a mix of tactics and pure cussedness, returned to his duty, which at the moment, consisted of a nap and lunch.

 

 

At the final event, a huge fleet cocktail party in honor of the _Enterprise_ crew, Spock watched his mate sip his fruit juice while surreptitiously leaning against the nearest wall. He had smiled, charmed, flattered, cajoled, and outright captivated the various media and factions of Fleet, and required a well-deserved rest from his cares. Doctor McCoy was at his elbow, and they were conversing lightly, the human's humor lessening the Captain's tension.

Ms. Ciani, dressed in a colorful gown of watered Andurian silk, lightly moved closer and clasped Jim's arm, her fingers brushing his wrist, her breasts pressed against Kirk's arm. Spock closed his eyes for a long moment, willingly the primal and fierce aspect of his personality to calm itself. _She is of no threat to us_ , he had repeatedly reminded himself over this past week. Jim barely even noticed her presence outside of civility. But the cat-like smile she sent Spock's way said much of what she desired and he felt oddly threatened by her confidence. His anger rose again and this time, he did not suppress it. _Let her see what she courts by blatantly touching my mate,_ Spock thought. _I am a Vulcan; no one may take what it mine by right and bond!_

Dark brown eyes gazed into his for a moment, widened, and then skittered away. She turned her back slightly on him, and clutched tighter to Jim's arm, as if needing his protection. Spock wanted to snarl, to snatch Jim from her grasp and demand that they leave this place. Feeling McCoy's eyes on him, Spock abruptly turned, and headed for the nearest lavatory. When he arrived, he enclosed himself in one of the cubicles and began an immediate short meditation in an effort to control his wayward emotions.

He should have warned Jim sooner that Ms. Ciani's attentions disturbed his balance. He ought to have made it plain himself that Kirk was spoken for. Jim was supposed to have made it readily understood, but he had not. Was he concerned of what other humans might think of his bonding with a Vulcan? Yet it could only heighten Kirk's extraordinary reputation as both a man and an officer to have one of an admittedly superior race as a mate.

We did not discuss how we would disclose the bonding, Spock reminded himself. Perhaps Jim did not know—?

"Spock?"

McCoy's voice interrupted his querulous thoughts. Restoring order to his mind, he pulled down his tunic shirt to even further precision and exited the stall. "Doctor?"

"She's one of Nogura's people, Spock," McCoy murmured, idly cleaning his hands at the basin. "I asked around and apparently he's been her rabbi since she began the Academy."

After translating what McCoy had said, into what he had meant, Spock nodded. "The Admiral is well aware of Jim's desire to remain in space. Do you believe he has some plan to prevent that and perhaps Ms. Ciani is a part of it?"

"We know how susceptible Jim can be to a beautiful woman. Its obvious Nogura has no idea about you two yet."

Spock said nothing. It was not up to him to disclose this information. A bonding required privacy.

"More importantly, 'Fleet Nets are talking about Jim being made Admiral of Operations."

Spock stilled, thoughts darting into numerous paradigms of possible futures and disliking all of the resultant scenarios. "Surely that could only be considered as a temporary measure. The captain has received training for command, and has proven himself on more than one occasion as an adept and able diplomat, explorer and soldier."

"'Fleet doesn't always think the way we want them to, Spock," McCoy told him, obviously disgusted, "and certainly not logically. If Jim takes the job, they're going to want to keep him as their Golden Boy. He's picture-perfect as their hero, and they'll point to him every time budget acquisitions come up in the Federation. Which means he'll be stuck on Earth, where he can't possibly get into too much trouble, so their idol will be safe from any tarnishing."

"Creating a false image of an imaginary perfect man and flawless agency."

"Exactly."

Spock sighed and pursed his lips together. "This must not occur."

"It'll break him if it does, Spock," McCoy warned dourly. "Jim isn't a desk-jockey. Sure, for a year, maybe two, he'd be fine, but taken from who he is, what he is, and where he belongs, he'll combust, flame-out, game over."

"You have spoken with him over this?"

"More times than I've argued with you," McCoy said, no trace of humor in his features. His expression was quite worried, and trusting the doctor's psychological knowledge of Kirk, Spock resolved to act.

"I will do what must be done, doctor, to prevent harm to Jim."

"I thought you'd say that," McCoy nodded, smacking his hands together and grinning widely. "You've had that superior Vulcan expression on for three days now and I know that something's going on under there."

Spock merely raised an eyebrow in response; McCoy, so very perceptively, had noticed his apprehension. No doubt he believed it was about future postings, and not the undeniable charms of Lori Ciani.

McCoy laughed. "Let's get back before Jim gets into trouble without us."

"Indeed." Spock followed the doctor and returned to the now less-crowded ballroom, only to be intercepted by Admiral Nogura and his wife. While conversing, he surreptitiously scanned the room for Kirk, not finding him within proximity. Disturbed, Spock excused himself and set out to find his captain.

 

 

"I think I must have just dropped it in here when I came in," Lori's voice told him as she moved into one of the corner conference rooms, just off the ballroom.

It was quiet here, the music and din of voices lessened by the walls between them. "Why didn't you check it?" he asked, referring to the wrap she ostensibly had misplaced. Jim knew when a woman was trying to get him alone; this stratagem was as transparent as the dress she was wearing and the way she'd pressed her breasts and belly against him every chance she got. He stayed by the door, not allowing it to close behind him and leave them cut off from anyone who might pass by on their way out.

 _I'm not even remotely interested in her_ , he realized with a frown. _Lori's beautiful, smart and chic. She's made no secret that she wants me, but I couldn't get it up for her with a block and tackle. And it's not because I'm tired._

Distracted by the realization, her kiss was a surprise. She insinuated herself in his arms with a speed that startled him. He pulled back. "Lori, wait. . ." but she was glued to him a second later, her teeth biting his lower lip in a way that should have driven him into pressing her into the wall with more than a little abandon and continuing the conversation in a more private space.

Instead, he stepped away just in time to see Spock and Nogura heading his way, visible through the narrowly open door, the Admiral talking animatedly and gesturing. Keeping Lori away with one arm, Jim wiped his lips, disgusted for no reason he could name.

She stared at him, an almost frightened expression on her lovely features. "Jim, I—"

Spock's entrance interrupted her. His face was carved from stone and to Kirk's eyes, he seemed pale, his eyes huge in his face. "I was just telling the Admiral that you wished to leave, Captain."

Jim didn't argue. He could feel the tension coming off of Spock, and something about the gratingly obvious good-cheer about Hideyoshi Nogura was sufficient to make him fall in with the silent plan. "I am tired, sir," he admitted to the CIC. "And I have an early meeting in the morning."

Nogura's eyes were a pale gold, which subtly enhanced the epicanthic folds of his eyes, and the pitch-black hair that hung in a plait from his neck. He was the same height as Kirk, but his body showed perhaps a more obsessive application to gym workouts. More than anything else, though, his presence was one of quiet strength, indicative of an implacability of character and integrity in service to his duty. Woe to the one who failed Nogura's tests of moral fiber; he gave no second chances and more than one career had been destroyed by his understated opinions.

"Good night, Lori," Jim continued, more concerned about the expression on Spock's face and the tension he could feel through the bond than anything or anyone else. _Deal with Nogura tomorrow_ , he told himself. _And Lori too._ It was a pity he wouldn't be explaining the situation to Ms. Ciani tonight, but Spock had to be his first priority.

"Of course, Jim. It's been a busy time for you, and undoubtedly you'd like a good night's sleep before your . . . debriefing . . . tomorrow."

Kirk caught the hesitation. Spock had been right, as usual, damn it. Nogura was up to something clever and he probably wouldn’t like it when he found out what it was.

Good nights said to all and sundry, the two men departed, Spock stiff and formal at his side, every limb taut with annoyance or anger. Jim couldn't tell and he thought he knew all of Spock's formidable faces.

It wasn't until they entered their quarters that Spock's calm broke and his grip on Jim's arm became painful. He was swung about and thrust against the door, Spock's fingers digging into the metal by his head. "Why did you touch her?" he hissed, his body trembling with anger.

Breathing hard, pressing a hand on either shoulder, Kirk pushed back against the massive strength of the Vulcan. "I didn't kiss her, she kissed me," Jim insisted. "And it was about as exciting as petting a puppy."

There was a low-level sound, almost a growl, emanating from Spock and he dropped his head, nearly touching Kirk's shoulder. "She invades you," the deep voice murmured, and the strong arms dropped slightly. "I can smell her on you."

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Spock," Jim sighed, pushing away from the door and the Vulcan. "You can't get so touchy about every woman who comes on to me, or you're going to be angry a lot of the time."

"Do you offer yourself to them?" Spock asked, ragged pain in his voice and Jim's annoyance sagged, all fight deserting him.

"No! At least, I don't think I'm giving off any signals. I mean, you and I are. . . ." He stopped, not knowing how to finish the sentence.

"Perhaps that is the problem," the Vulcan mused, hands clenching into fists.

"What's the problem?"

"We have not fulfilled the pleasure of the Bonding in entirety. You do not see yourself as part of a mated pair and perhaps wish for sexual relations outside of it," he baldly stated, voice hoarse, eyes dark and burning. "Your body language may invite others to, as you say, "come on to you"."

"Spock, it's not . . . "that" time, is it?" Kirk asked with trepidation, reminded of a day of red clouds and choking pain. He was not ready for a Vulcan in full "fuck or die" mode.

The Vulcan flushed, lighting his pale skin with a mint hue. "It is not," he growled.

"Seyjan did tell me, Spock; it wasn't so long ago that he and I discussed this. I just didn't realize that a kiss would put such a knot in your tail."

The Vulcan frowned and Kirk was about to clarify, when Spock said, "You have not advised anyone of our Bonding. Why?"

"I wanted to tell my mother in person," Kirk replied, straightening slightly, feeling attacked and unaccountably defensive by the change in subject. "I told you that."

"Is there no one else with which you would wish to share such news?"

Jim walked into the bedroom, gaining space and time. He sat heavily on the bed and stooped to remove his boots. "I . . . I guess I wanted to keep it private. Between us."

"Why?"

Kirk stared down at his hands. He was too tired for this conversation. Too much could be said that couldn't be taken back. "Because it's important to me," he finally whispered. "The last thing I want is for the Nets to get hold of the news before we're ready for others to know. Especially 'Fleet." He flailed at straws, unaccountably unnerved by the question. "Besides, you're the one who wanted to make sure your father didn't learn of it through any other channels."

Spock walked closer to him, all anger erased from his body. He knelt at Kirk's feet and looked at him, waiting until their eyes met before he spoke. "I cannot help my . . . sense of resentment that she touched you, however briefly. But I can remove the evidence of it so completely that it will be as it had never been."

Jim stared at him blankly, not expecting the Vulcan to move so quickly. Spock's lips on his were paper-dry but hot as flame, and the simple kiss burnt a path from Kirk's mouth to his groin so quickly he grabbed for Spock in a suddenly reeling world. Air became a desperate commodity, and though it remained just a touch of skin on skin, this kiss sent Jim Kirk into a world of desire and heat that caused his heart to pound and his hands to sweat.

When Spock released him, the Vulcan sat back, seeming impervious to the rush of sensation that spread through Kirk. "Now, she is gone. And I am the one you will remember."

Jim sat on the bed for a long time after the Vulcan had moved toward the bathroom, fingers stroking his lips, wondering just what the hell he'd gotten himself into when a kiss had the power to move him so deeply. A kiss from _Spock_.

What would he do if they ever went any further? Implode? Be reduced to a small pile of ash?

And more importantly, who had taught Spock to kiss like that?

 _Like what, th'y'la_? Spock asked through the bond, his tone mocking. _It was just a simple touch of mouths, such as your people do without incident. No need for it to unsettle you so._

Jim ignored that barb and said, "Don't think you'll take me by surprise like that again."

_Is that a challenge, my mate?_

Kirk grinned, always liking it when Spock's playful side came out. "And if it is?"

_Then I shall take you up on it._

Shaking his head and wondering if he really had lost his mind in taunting a Vulcan of all people, and Spock in particular, he started to tear off his dress uniform, sick to death of the tight feeling of it. He stretched his shoulders, moved his neck, hearing and feeling the pops and cracks that the bones made. _I need a workout._

_I have taken the liberty of reserving mat time at the Academy gym for 0600 tomorrow. If you wish, I will find you another partner to practice with. If my kisses are surprising, then Vulcan hand-to-hand will leave you nonplussed._

_Smart ass,_ Kirk snapped back. _Like I haven't been working out with you for years already and know your moves._

_Some apparently still have the power to stagger you._

Jim had to laugh. "Come out and fight like a man," he told his first officer.

Spock exited the bathroom with his towel securely fastened around his waist. His hair was longer than usual, and it hung damply against his high cheek bones, highlighting those amazing eyes.

Suddenly, there was no more humor in the situation, and Kirk found himself walking toward the Vulcan slowly, drawn by the naked, furred chest, the long, muscled arms, and the daring expression in the dark brown depths.

At first, he kissed Spock to get a little of his own back, but he'd underestimated what he dealt with. The fire between them flashed into exuberant life, and he wound his arms around Spock, needing him closer, relishing the feel of those long fingers in his hair, sliding over his face, leaving rivers of sensation in their wake. Spock tasted of exotic spices, cinnamon merged with an essence of flame, burning Kirk deeply, fiercely, demanding and desiring in equal measure.

One kiss merged into another and then another, until Jim had to stop. His knees shook, his heart hammered in his chest, and he felt that he'd faint if he didn't sit down. Moments later, he was resting on his back on the bed, Spock's concerned face hovering over him.

"Jim? You are too weary for these games now, _th'y'la_. Later, when time is ours, we can explore at our leisure. But not now."

"This has . . . nothing to do . . . with my being tired, Spock," he argued softly, one hand curving over a hot flushed cheek, as he fought to find the strength, the air, to continue. "You demolish me. Just you. Just us. I never dreamed it could be like this with anyone."

"Nor I."

Jim sighed as warm lips pressed against his cheek, his forehead, before just brushing against his mouth. His eyes closed.

"Sleep, _th'y'la_. I will be here to guard your dreams."

He obeyed, unable to do anything else.


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

 

At 0800 sharp the next morning, Jim presented himself at the Executive Dining Room. It was a huge facility, with expensive furnishings and materials that hushed sounds, so that no conversations carried outside of each table. He was dressed in uniform, the green-gold command shirt more suitable for Earth-side meetings as it was more relaxed than the gold shirt. He was dead on time, not early, not late, and if he'd fussed in the toilet for three minutes to make certain of it, well, presentation was nine-tenths of image.

The human waiter directed him to an oval table towards the rear of the room. It was covered in 'Fleet-blue cloth, with plate service also in cobalt, edged in gold. It was quite impressive, as it was no doubt intended to be.

He was wearing his poker face, the one he used when native governments were being difficult and demanding, and required careful handling to attain whatever it was that 'Fleet desired, whether it be dilithium mines or planetary inclusion to the UFP.

Nogura was speaking with Admiral Federstein and broke off when Jim arrived.

"Welcome, Jim. It's good to see you. You know Iggy Federstein, Director of Operations, and Kitaka Hayes, Director of Personnel Administration, right?"

Kirk shook hands and sat down. As he sipped his coffee, he glanced at the others while they continued their conversation. Federstein was the oldest, a tough, craggy, and occasionally obnoxious admiral of all of Fleet ops. He was also the most brilliant human military mind in the galaxy.

Hayes was younger, calmer, cooler, his silky blond hair cut extremely short, highlighting his lime green eyes. His face was sculpted in perfectly angular lines, and he was undoubtedly the handsomest man Kirk had ever seen.

They ordered a meal and began discussing about various ships, crews and planetary issues. After the food was brought, they started talking about the _Enterprise_ and her crew.

"Jim, I know that Spock is meeting with Saris right now. What do you think are the chances he'll accept a command?" Nogura asked, ostensibly focusing on his food, but Kirk knew better.

Jim smiled. "Zero."

Hayes grinned, and Jim's opinion of his looks went up by a factor of ten. "You owe me 100 credits, Hideo. I told you he wouldn't, but you couldn't believe that Spock doesn't have any desire for a ship of his own. Not that we have any available at the moment. Only the deep space research vessels and that would be a waste of talent."

"He is a scientist," Federstein snapped. "And besides that, he's a Vulcan. I would think research would satisfy him."

"Spock isn't just a scientist," Kirk insisted softly. "He's a vital and intrinsic part of my command team. His ability to act as both science officer and first officer is an invaluable factor in any and all issues that come up onboard. He is as deft at dealing with personnel issues as he is knowledgeable of command tactics and research topics of all the areas under his purview."

"All which would make him an excellent captain, Kirk. Why are you holding him back?" Federstein grumbled, his gray eyes pinning Jim to his chair, brows drawn down, a heavy frown on his weathered features.

"You don't know Spock if you think that anyone can hold him back, Admiral," Jim told him with a wry smile. "Vulcans cannot be pressured. They do as they see fit, according to the logic of the moment." He drank more coffee and continued, "Spock is no less a Vulcan than his father." He paused to give his next comment more weight. "I believe you gentlemen already know how difficult it is to change Sarek's mind."

Hayes nodded. "I have to agree. After spending ten years on Vulcan as a 'Fleet liaison, I think I have an idea of how they think. And believe me when I tell you that Spock won't be interested if he's already said no."

Nogura cleared his throat and agreed with a chuckle, diffusing the subtle tension that had arisen. "Indeed. What would he do if 'Fleet insisted?"

 _So Spock had been right; they were going to try and force him to take a deep-space assignment._ "I don't know, but I can tell you this: Spock can't be pressured in doing something he doesn't choose to do."

"You've discussed it then?"

"There have been more than one or two instances where he has been forced to take command. While he handled the situations extremely well, he does not see a command position as being the best use of his skills. Whether I agree or not is irrelevant; he will do as he sees fit."

The three men looked at one another and a silent communication seemed to occur. Jim sat back and waited. Though outwardly he looked relaxed, he was anything but.

"What about you, Jim? Where do you see yourself in the coming years?"

Jim gave them his most charming smile. "On _Enterprise_ , of course. I think I've proven my ability to handle the difficult assignments."

Hayes laughed out loud, causing a few of the other 'Fleet patrons to look up quickly before turning back to their own business. "You have a most, um, _atypical_ manner of interpreting the Prime Directive, Jim. Command doesn't always agree with your methods."

"Perhaps not," Kirk acknowledged, "but they do agree with my success in achieving UFP and 'Fleet priorities." The other men remained silent and he continued, "The _Enterprise_ gets the hard jobs, the dirty ones, the missions with the highest threat ratio and lowest possible success percentage. My people have put it on the line when push has come to shove." He pointed a finger into the tablecloth. "You know, and I know, that when trouble shows up on the galaxy's doorstep, we're the ones you send out. And we have come through for you. The price has been paid, in lives, sweat, and tears as our duty demanded of us." He wiped his mouth with a napkin. "That's where I belong, not parked on my butt behind a desk, pushing flimsies, writing reports, and moving ships around on a computer screen. I'm an explorer, soldier, strategist, a diplomat when needed, and a mean sonovabitch when required. Don't waste my talent in publicity campaigns and political maneuvering."

The others were quiet for some time, and his hands started to sweat, but he didn't let any of it show. He was a seasoned poker player and he knew how to play a hand, especially the ones that affected his life. He sat back and relaxed even further, leaving the game in their hands now. It had always been there; he'd just slipped it away from the others for a few minutes.

"I did try to tell them, Jim," Nogura admitted, gesturing to the other two men. "I've been your mentor for some time now, and I know just how damnably stubborn you can be."

"What if the _Enterprise_ isn't available for the near future?" Hayes asked, his body language cool, his gaze animated.

"I'll serve where I'm needed, but I want to be involved in the refit and I want my ship back when it's done."

"Pretty damned sure of yourself, aren't you, Kirk?" Federstein grumbled.

"Yes, sir, I am. A man, especially a Starfleet captain, has to know his worth or he's wasting your time."

The three men looked at each other, and again, messages seem to fly fast and thick between them. It reminded Kirk of his own command crew, and he smiled a little to see it. These men had served 'Fleet and the UFP for their lifetimes and it showed.

Finally Nogura said, "All right, Jim. We didn't expect anything less from you than insisting to get back into the captain's chair. For now, you'll work with Federstein and lend some of that strategic genius of yours to him. I'll make sure that you're kept apprised of _Enterprise_ 's refit and the new technology that she'll be gaining, though I am certain that Montgomery Scott would have done so anyway."

Kirk had the grace to flush slightly. "He's a brilliant engineer, a devil of a poker player, and as fine and loyal an officer as you're going to find."

"Your crew's loyalty to you, Jim, is remarkable," Hayes admitted. "More than 90 percent have requested to be considered, after the refit, to serve under you again. They assumed she would be given back to you."

Kirk smiled. "You've given us the best of the bunch, Admiral, time and time again. I can't complain about the level of officers you've sent to serve with me."

"Some of them needed the high standards that you and Spock have set to put them on the right path," Hayes said. "You don't coddle your people, but you treat them with the respect they've earned, with chances for advancement with good service to the 'Fleet. Your personnel paradigm works and I'd like to pick your brain to see how you do it."

Jim nodded. "Of course."

More coffee was served and Jim took the time to wonder how Spock was doing, only to find Admiral Saris coming across the room towards their table a few minutes later. With a dour glance at Kirk, he went to Nogura and murmured in his ear. With a gesture, the CINC sent Saris away, and then leaned in to the table. "I knew this was going too well. Jim, what's this about your being bonded to Spock?"

 _Damnitall, anyway._ He took a silent breath, feeling the tension from Nogura rise ten-fold. _No way out but through._ "It's true, Admiral." The others sent hard looks his way, and with a sigh, he continued, "We're bonded . . . ostensibly married for all intents and purposes. It hasn't had any affect on our command style."

"Really?" Hayes asked, tossing his napkin down on the table in irritation. "How do you figure that?"

"I've sent Spock into danger and even certain death. He knows, and I know, that we will do what it takes to get the job done."

"From what Saris tells me, this bonding was recent," Nogura added.

Kirk nodded. "Yes, on our last mission, involving the Di'Shan. I did outline it fully in my report, sir."

"You didn't mention a bonding, Jim," Nogura replied with asperity in his tone.

"We did try to break it on Vulcan, sir," Jim insisted. "That's not something I felt appropriate to put in a report."

"And I gather the attempt didn't work?"

"No, sir." Kirk had no intention of going into the detail of a Vulcan bonding with Nogura. To give him credit, he didn't ask. He would probably be on the horn to somebody in xenobiology as soon as this meeting was over. And they wouldn't know squat either.

"Just when were you going to mention it?"

"As soon as the publicity circus died down, Admiral." He started to get annoyed. "If you have concerns about our working together, you will have ample time to see if it affects our decisions and loyalties in the next few years. I can assure you it won't, but if you need greater proof than our word, you'll be able to analyze our command style yourselves." _Damn it, Spock. You couldn't wait?_

"So this is the real reason why Spock won't take a deep-space assignment," Federstein said softly, his gimlet gaze fierce.

"No, sir, with respect, it is not. _Spock does not want command_. Period. Ever. He does well when circumstances force him to it, but it is not his preference."

"Saris pushed a little harder than I would have liked on the subject," Nogura admitted. "Spock made it quite clear that he would resign his commission before being forced to commit to a command he didn't believe he should accept."

Jim blinked.

"You didn't expect such a definitive decision from him, did you, Kirk?" Hayes asked, watching him sharply.

"No, sir, I didn't. But you should know that Vulcans don't bluff. If he said it, he meant it." He rubbed a hand along his chin. "Yet I doubt we want to lose the prestige of the first Vulcan in Starfleet or the finest first officer we have, either, over this issue."

"Is it because of your relationship, Kirk, that he's being so obstinate?" Federstein asked.

Jim sighed. "You keep asking the same questions, gentlemen, and I'm going to give you the same answer. No. Spock doesn't want command. He doubts his ability to lead a human crew, since he doesn't always understand what motivates humans to do what they do. If it's any consolation, I'd feel the same way about an all-Vulcan crew." He chuckled. "And besides that, Spock isn't obstinate. He's logical.  There is no method designed in heaven or in hell that will make him change his mind once the particular logic of a situation has been formulated. It's useless."

Hayes shook his head. "Spock's been refusing command for quite some time now. It is doubtful that you, or anything you have done, Kirk, could change his mind. Iggy here, does get cranky, though, when his officers decline a posting."

"Spock's too well connected to piss off," Federstein growled, his hands folded over his stomach. "And his father could out-logic most computer programs we have, considering how many he designed."

 _And you don't want to aggravate his mother or great-grandmother, either,_ Jim thought, but T'Pau was a card he would keep in his pocket for an emergency. He didn't say anything further and the meeting broke up cordially enough.

Nogura pulled him aside as they left the dining room. His gold eyes sparkled. "That's quite a hand you dealt us, Jim. Not that I expected you to yield without a fight, but Spock's intransigence was the icing on the cake. I'm not sure I understand Vulcan bondings or that I like the idea that my finest captain is involved with one, though."

Jim threw his hands up. "We didn't plan it, Hideo. He did it to save my life and more importantly, 'Fleet strategic positioning plans that _Enterprise_ was party to. Bonding is not a casual issue for any Vulcan, and especially bonding with humans."

The CINC nodded. "Sarek did pretty well. His wife, Amanda, is quite a woman, though how she deals with him is anyone's guess."

Jim didn't react to the unintended slur to his father-in-law, and smiled. "She's pretty special."

"You’re not so bad, yourself, Jim," Nogura told him, clapping him on the shoulder with a heavy hand. "You handled yourself well in there, though I warn you that Saris does not, and never has, liked you very much."

"Why?"

"Jealousy, I think. He was in the running for _Enterprise—_ he thought—but it had always been you we planned on putting in the center seat."

"Did he try to push Spock on the command issue because of that?"

"Always possible, Jim, always possible. He's probably even more irked that Spock refused what he thought was an enticing command proposition, making him look bad in front of Hayes."

Jim shook his head and gave a soft whistle. "He made it sound like a done deal to Hayes?"

"I'm sure. He just didn't add the object of his machinations to his equations," Hideo teased. "On a personal note, I hope you're satisfied with your current posting."

"I'm sure there's a lot I can learn from Federstein," Kirk agreed. "He's a talented and exceptional commander. His ability to make the 'Fleet look more widespread and powerful than it is, is more valuable than dilithium, and prevents war with the Romulans and the Klingons."

"I think your friends the Organians had more to do with a cease-fire than Iggy, but I agree with your assessment. That's why I want you to pick his brain. He's been ill, lately—oh, nothing lethal, just the slow glide into old age and death we can all expect some time or another. We just can't afford to lose him yet, not until he passes along some of that hard won experience to you and others."

"I'm not taking his job, Hideo," Kirk reminded, with a touch of asperity. "Groom somebody else."

"I know, Jim, I know. But it certainly wouldn't hurt the captain of the Starfleet flagship to learn as much as he can, now would it? Take the chance, Jim; it's a once in a lifetime opportunity."

Kirk agreed. "I will. Anything else?"

"Oh, you're promoted to admiral."

Jim just stared at him for a long moment, then murmured, "For the duration of my time on Earth?"

"So suspicious, Jim," Nogura taunted. "For the duration, yes. _Enterprise_ is yours. I swear on my ancestors."

Kirk relaxed a little. That wasn't an oath Nogura would make lightly.

"You're on leave for the next 8 weeks, so make the most of it. And Spock better get used to being called captain, too."

Jim laughed. "Good luck with that."

Nogura strode off, waving a little behind him. "That's your job now, Jim. Goodbye, Admiral Kirk. See you in two months. Say hello to your mother for me."

Jim smiled at his erstwhile mentor, and turned to head back to their quarters. _Where are you?_  He sent to Spock, not really expecting a reply, figuring he was probably out of range.

_In our quarters, awaiting your return. The 'Fleet net channel is already relating your promotion to Admiral._

_That was fast. Nogura just told me._

_No doubt the announcement was planned to go out during your meeting this morning._

_And you're being made captain._

Jim listened to the silence that followed and then added, _No deep-space missions, Spock. Just Earth and then Enterprise. Though your premature announcement of our bond could have put a wrench in the works,_ he added with a touch of aggravation.

 _Saris . . . irritated me,_ the Vulcan admitted _. For a supposedly intelligent Starfleet officer of flag rank, he did not seem to understand the word, "no."_

_He does now, and apparently isn't very happy about being made to look inept in front of Nogura and Hayes by pushing you into offering your resignation._

_He had . . . less than benign comments to make about you, personally, Admiral, as well as your command ability, your insistence on flouting the Prime Directive, and your maverick managerial style. I believe he does not like you, Jim._

Kirk chuckled at Spock's dry tone. _Nogura says he wanted Enterprise._

_Ah. Jealousy._

_Indeed_ , Jim teased. _Nothing a superior being like you would know about._

_Except when it comes to you._

The tone of Spock's mental voice reminded him sharply of the kisses they had shared last night. _I think I like that._

_You did not seem to "like it" last night._

_Yes, well, I thought about it this morning. I wouldn't like anyone pawing you like they owned you, either. I might even become violent over it, though I hope never to be put in the situation._

_And Ms. Ciani?_

_I'll talk with Lori. Now that Nogura knows that we're bonded, he'll yank her leash and sic her on someone else he wants to keep tabs on._

_I don’t understand._

Jim grinned. Spock was still learning the subtle machinations of the human mind. _Lori was a plant to keep an eye on me. Maybe he even wanted me to fall in love with her, make me more amenable to staying on Earth, and likely to agree with whatever plans Command had for my future. I wouldn't put it past that Asian Machiavelli._

_Even without the bond, you would not stay on Earth._

Jim stepped into the elevator to take him to their floor. _Men have done worse things after being in space for five years, Spock. And if not for you, Lori might have been enough of an enticement to stay for a while._

As he opened the door to their quarters, Spock said, "It would not be your first, best, destiny, Jim. You are meant for greater things."

Kirk grinned. " _We_ are meant for greater things." He leaned up and placed a soft kiss on Spock's lips. "I'd better call Bones before he hears it through the grapevine."

"An utterly illogical phrase. Grapevines were never—"

"It's just an expression. I think we're in for even more publicity, and you might want to contact your parents and let them know of your promotion."

"After I meditate."

"Saris upset you that much?"

"No. While I expected your promotion, I did not foresee my own."

Jim chuckled and gave Spock a teasing smile. "I did."

Spock let out what amounted to a sigh and strode into the bedroom, closing the door with somewhat more force than necessary behind him. Jim shook his head and moved to the computer to contact Bones when he heard the door chime.

The door was barely open before Jim could hear a full-fledged McCoy rant. By the sound of it, the doctor had begun long before he'd arrived.

"Are you out of your galaxy-hopping mind, _Admiral_?" the doctor yelled full into his face. "Didn't I, your friend, doctor, psychiatrist, and all-around miracle worker, make enough of an impression the last time we had this conversation?" He went on before Kirk could reply, McCoy's blue eyes sparkling with a fine rage, he continued, "And where is your better half? The one who's supposed to keep you from doing stupid things like this?"

"Will you shut up, Bones?" Jim urged, dragging the doctor inside and closing the door with a thump. "Spock's meditating. At least, he was before you came barging in here all afire with righteous fury." The two men waited, looking towards the closed bedroom door. Spock wasn't at all kind when his meditations were interrupted, and less so when it was overly emotional humans doing the interrupting. The last time, McCoy was given a twelve-hour drill in cleaning and restocking his emergency stores locker, a thoroughly boring, time-consuming and exhausting task, requiring much up and down of ladders and carrying to and fro. Bones cursed him for it, but never lost his temper again near Spock's quarters, thereby keeping the captain's quarters quieter too.

When it remained closed, both men gave a sigh of relief. "That was too close."

"What's he going to do? Insist I go on leave?"

"Don't push it, doctor," Jim told him with asperity. "I'll send you to Barsuon if you don't shut it down."

"Isn't that a—"

"Yes, it certainly is. A dilithium disposal site. It's a little close to its sun, what with it going Red Dwarf in a few years, but you don't mind the heat, you're a Southern boy," Jim said through his teeth, aggravation showing.

McCoy swallowed, and put a more congenial expression on his face. "I'm just worried about you, Jim."

"So you've said. At least fifteen times in the past three months." Jim slashed a hand through the air in front of them. "Enough, Bones. I mean it. I know Nogura's worse than a Barranian barracuda when he wants his way, but I'm not going to be landlocked any longer than it takes for the ship to finish her refit. And that's that. Now, come on. I have to go talk to Lori Ciani, and I want witnesses."

"Talking about barracudas," McCoy grumbled as he followed.

Jim didn't respond. Lori had her own issues with Nogura, no doubt. But he was going to make the situation quite plain to her.

"She probably already knows about the promotion."

"Well, I knew about it. It's plastered all over the damned city. And as much as I like your face, seeing it 30 meters high and 15 across is going a little too far."

Jim laughed and slapped McCoy on the back, his good temper restored. "It'd be worse if it were yours, plastered up there as CMO of 'Fleet."

McCoy raised a brow and gave a chuckle of his own. "That'll be the day."

 

 

Jim let out a quiet sigh as he entered their quarters a few hours later. The rooms were dark, a pending thunderstorm tossing pewter clouds over the morning's sunshine. He leaned against the door panel and closed his eyes, letting his head fall back. Taking a moment, he reviewed exactly what he was feeling, not all too surprised when he figured out what it was.

Relief.

There was nowhere he needed to be. Nothing in particular he had to do. Meeting with Lori and seeing Bones on his way to visit family were the last immediate items on his mental list. There were no meetings to attend, no command issues to be analyzed, no reports to be written, no new mission to evaluate. He hadn't been so free since before he'd accepted the captain's chair of _Enterprise_.

He was tired, but more than the physical weariness, was the very real mental exhaustion. Part of him was admittedly nervous of giving up the "command mentality" even for a few months, afraid that he would lose something intangible in that time, the special something that made him _Captain_ Jim Kirk. 'Negative think' Bones would say, but he'd also understand it for what it was: uncertainty of the future. Sure, Nogura swore that the ship would be returned to him after the re-fit. But who could say what would happen between now and then? Was he really ready to go balls-to-the-wall with men like Federstein and _demand_ her back? And what if they refused? What then? Retirement? Flying a desk?

He pushed off from the door and straightened up. That he was even considering those as options said more about his mental state than anything else. Washing his hands over his face, he walked to the picture window, admiring the force of the booming thunderclap and jagged lightning that now decorated the sky before him. Rain slashed against the window, and the wind picked up. Air cars slowed in the ubiquitous traffic as their sensors were raised to their greatest levels and wind screens prevented them from being buffeted by the ferocity of the storm.

In a few days he would head out to Iowa, to see Mom and Peter. Ghod, _Peter._ It'd been four years since he'd seen him, talked with him, tried to help him through the trauma of losing both his parents. At the time he had hoped that sending Peter to live with his mother would be the best thing for both of them, and though there had been a few rough patches between the boy and his grandmother, they'd survived to remake a family for themselves . . . one where Jim was only a spectator. He shrugged that thought away. _Getting maudlin_ , he grumbled to himself, glad that Spock was still deep within his meditation and unaware of his speculations.

It would be good to see the both of them and get to spend a few weeks in the spring of an Iowa farm. Jim didn't want think about his mother's reaction to his bonding, but it was constantly on his mind. He already knew she wouldn't be happy about it. As long as he could remember, Winona had talked about Jim's finally having a wife, children, a family. Sam had done it, and Mom had used his family like a bat over Jim's head every time they talked. Even when they'd lived on Deneva, Mom had received weekly notes from Aurelan about Sam and Peter, which kept her up to date in their lives and gave her something to brag about to her friends. It was the next best thing to being there, and Aurelan was smart enough to figure out that she wanted Winona on her side. Jim blew out a breath of sadness, of regret, missing Sam and Aurelan more every time he allowed himself to think of them. The family name would live on in Peter; there would be no more little Kirks running around the farm now that Spock was a part of his life.

He grimaced as another boom of thunder sounded, underscoring the turbulence of his thoughts. _Mom is not going to be happy_. However Jim prepared her for it, she wasn't going to be satisfied with his relationship with Spock. Not that Audra was prejudicial towards Vulcans or men; it was more that Spock was a tall, lithe, stumbling block towards Jim having any heirs of his own. And that would put the cat amongst the pigeons.

The storm was pelting down rain now in earnest, and the view was blurry with it. Jim turned away and settled on the couch. What now? He didn't want to read, to watch the vid feeds, or to travel in that mess outside, and he wasn't hungry. He lay down and decided that a nap would be a good way to pass the time until Spock came out from his meditations. He wanted to get out of his uniform before he went anywhere; it was a beacon to the eye, and he didn't want any more attention thrown his way. His face being plastered all over the city didn't make that easy; perhaps a change of venue would be a good idea until the latest news died down. Slipping off his boots, he settled down and closed his eyes, willing his mind to shut down for a while. It was a useful ability that Spock had taught him early on in their mission and he'd had occasion to take advantage of it before. . . .

When he woke, it was dusk, and dim light slanted strangely throughout the apartment. Spock was silhouetted at the window, gazing down into the street below. Jim sat up and stretched. "Didn't think I'd sleep that long."

His friend turned, but Jim couldn't see the expression in his eyes. "You are tired, Jim. Didn't you have the same reaction after other long missions?"

Kirk thought back and nodded. "Yes, I did. But it was usually after I'd already painted the town red." He could almost see Spock's eyebrow rise at the anachronism. "After I'd partied and hit every restaurant and bar in town," he explained.

"Ah. You wish to do these things now?"

The idea made him chuckle. "No, not really. I think I've had all the parties I can stand for a while. Besides, every time I go out, people come up to me, want to meet me, talk . . . it's like I'm some kind of celebrity."

"I believe McCoy did warn you that response was probable."

"I know, I know, but the reality is a little disconcerting."

"Then I presume you wish to eat here?"

"Ghod, yes. I want to get out of this uniform in the worst way." He stood up and started removing the gold shirt and then the tee shirt beneath. Picking up his boots Jim walked into the bedroom and tossed his clothes into the laundry chute before deciding on a shower. He dropped his boots on the floor and removed his pants and briefs.

"Dinner?" Spock asked from behind him. For some reason he hadn't turned on the lights. Jim kind of liked the darkness, and had since he was little. He couldn’t see the monsters, but they couldn't see him either.

"Anything but synthesized," he begged.

Spock's slight cough in response was a chuckle choked down, and he smiled.

The shower was hot, wet and heavenly. Sometime later, Jim started when he felt Spock behind him. "Food?" he asked softly.

"Detained, due to inclement weather. I agree with the need to 'get out of uniform.'"

Spock's hands, slick with soap and hot, smoothed over Kirk's back, his touch somewhere between a light massage and a caress. "Hmm," Jim replied, his thoughts short-circuited for a long moment and then he shook himself. "There isn't enough room for two in here, so I'll skedaddle."

"The longer you are on Earth, Jim, the more colloquialisms you tend to use," Spock grumbled, whether from his language or his lack of presence in the shower, Kirk couldn't decide.

"Sorry. I'll watch it."

"Indeed."

He didn't have a great many off-duty clothes with him. Technically, the captain of a ship in space was never off-duty so it hadn't been an issue. He pulled on a weathered olive green track suit and left his feet bare, then reconsidered, and slipped into a pair of all-terrain shoes. _You're an admiral, now, Jimmy-boy,_ the strategist reminded him with great glee.

 _Oh, shut up,_ Jim said, and slammed the door on it. _I'm not in the mood for you._

The food arrived and Jim set it up on the small dining room table, leaving the lights on a low setting, while Spock finished dressing. There was an authentic Caposian steak, medium-rare, just the way Jim liked it, and enough vegetables to feed an entire security team, plus Troyian tarmeek soup, and a Waldorf salad. A large bottle of Tarquinian ale, ice-cold and beginning to sweat also came out of the box. His mouth watered. Spock hadn't spared any expense for this dinner.

"Come on, Spock, my steak's getting cold."

 A moment later the Vulcan arrived, and Jim's gaze was pulled away from his salad. He wore black slacks and a heavy black sweater over it, and a lavender shirt beneath it with a high collar. Kirk's immediate reaction was one of surprise, then admiration.

The slight compression of Spock's lips gave away his smile.

"Everything looks wonderful," Jim told him, indicating the meal, but knowing that Spock was aware of his entire meaning.

"I am pleased you are satisfied."

"Not yet, but I will be." Jim cracked open the bottle of ale and took a healthy swig. Tarquinian ale was prized around the galaxy and not an item that was placed on ship's supply orders, or possible to synth, unfortunately, which made this evening all that more special. "What army were you ordering for?" he asked.

"You are hungry, are you not? And neither of us has eaten fresh food in some time."

"So long, I'd forgotten what real steak tasted like."

Spock gave a delicate shudder and speared a broccoli floret with relish.

Realizing he'd been remiss in not asking previously, Jim tore his eyes away from his food. "What would you like to do on our leave?"

"I would be appreciative of spending some time on Vulcan."

"Of course, to see your parents."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Yes, but I would also wish to go to the Vulcan Academy and meet with my colleagues in a number of the sciences."

Well, that sounded exciting. "I'm sure they'd be pleased to discuss anything your want. You've written quite a few scientific papers for the journals during our mission."

"Not all were well-received, or, I believe, completely understood by the community at large."

There was a hint of asperity in Spock's tone. "In other words, you need to go smack a few heads together."

"If I understand your very colorful meaning, then yes, some clarification of my points is in order."

Jim chuckled and finished his salad.

"You will wish to see your mother and nephew?"

"I thought we could go in a few days if you have no other plans."

"I do not. I have never been to Iowa."

Kirk cleared his throat. He didn't want Spock to walk into the firing line without warning, but he was loathe to change the comfortable, informal atmosphere.

"Jim?"

Spock was giving him the choice of whether he wanted to discuss it or not. He stabbed his fork into his steak with rather more force than necessary, and mumbled, "My mother may be difficult."

"Difficult? In what way?"

"In the 'you're a male and won't be giving me any children' way. Unless there's something else about Vulcan physiology you'd care to mention?" He tried to put a smile into it, but his concerns made it fall flat.

Spock blinked. "No, I do not believe that is likely, as Vulcans are not amphibians. I can understand your mother's dissatisfaction, and can even share it. Perhaps, ample donations to the Terran sperm-bank will soothe her?"

"Doubt it. She wants kids running around the farm after she's gone, specifically mine. And if I were married, then she would have company occasionally, and the grandkids. Now . . . well let's just say, she won't be pleased."

"Even if you married, did you plan children, given that you would be in space most of your life?"

" _I_ hadn't. _Mom_ had."

"I see. And this concerns you?"

"I don't want to just drop you into the lion's den without warning. And yes, my mother's unhappiness will bother me. But I am looking forward to seeing Peter. He's seventeen already, and thankfully, shows no interest in leaving Earth."

"Xenophobia is a good thing?" Spock asked.

"As far as Mom is concerned, a very good thing. Besides, Peter isn't xenophobic, per se. He wants to study galactic languages at New York University and in his last call, was asking for my support."

"Relatively speaking, New York is not far, though the Andarian Academy would be a better choice for his chosen field of study."

"You should mention that to him, thought Mom will beat me black and blue if he actually goes. And she's not a xenophobe. She likes everybody, as long as they're on Earth."

"Space travel is the issue then?"

"Of course. Dad went missing in space, then Sam and Aurelan died on Deneva, and I'm never home. She sees it as the enemy."

They ate in silence for a short time before Jim asked, "What about your parents?"

"They have yet to advise me when they will return to Vulcan."

There was a wealth of information in that short sentence and Jim slowly parsed it out. "But we'll go anyway."

"We will."

"Good. I'd like to see Seyjan again."

Spock didn't reply and their conversation turned to other topics. "How are you dealing with being promoted?"

Spock's eyes snapped fire for a moment, until his lids covered the flames and he took a breath. "I believe it is just a mechanism to keep you on Earth after the _Enterprise_ is re-fitted."

"Explain."

"I believe Admiral Federstein will position me so that remaining on Earth would be the best possible outcome."

"Wouldn't put it past him," Jim replied, sipping his ale. "Except he doesn't know you like I do. Doesn't know what a logically stubborn, mint-green, half-Human calculator you really are." His smile took all heat from the words and made them a compliment instead.

"True. And your promotion? Have you come to terms with it?"

"It's not a surprise; we had pretty much figured that Command would pull a stunt like this. I'll use the time with Federstein to pick his brain."

"You are the superior field strategist, Jim."

"Maybe, but he's better at tactical assessment than I am. I'm hoping that once I'm inside the inner circle they won't just close down lines of communication when I'm back on the ship. It wouldn't hurt us to have more information on some of the missions we go on."

"Agreed."

They ate in silence for a few minutes before Jim broached the next subject. "I spoke with Lori Ciani today. Explained the situation." He stared at his fork for a moment. "I think she was relieved."

Spock's eyes danced. "That I cannot believe," he said softly.

Jim shrugged and tried not to blush. Spock's admiration felt wonderful, like a caress across his skin. "It's one thing when you want to be with someone," he said, head down over his plate, "It's entirely another when your boss puts you up to it. That's far too much like prostitution. And she knew I wasn't interested."

A dark eyebrow rose.

Kirk looked up and saw it. "Oh, cut it out. I wasn't. At all. And no, I'm not that tired. And yes, she was attractive." He sipped his ale. "I just wasn't . . . interested."

Spock nodded and let the subject go. "McCoy was here?"

"Did you hear him?"

"Somewhat, but it did not interfere with my meditation, fortunately."

"For him," Jim replied with a snap, and Spock's lips twisted in his version of a smile. "He's gone to visit Joanna."

"I hope they are able to "mend their fences," Spock said, frowning over the colloquialism.

"She's too much like him in too many ways for them to entirely get along, but it would be nice if they could at least see each other without fighting," Jim agreed.

"She is based on the Terran Moon Medical facility, is she not?"

"She runs it. Bones is really proud of her."

"It is she who should be proud."

Jim nodded. From Spock, it wasn't so much a compliment, as a statement of fact. "She'd have to know just who Bones is, to do that, I think. Though the way 'Fleet is making such a fuss of the _Enterprise_ crew, it wouldn't surprise me if McCoy's contributions aren't made public, too."

"I have not taken the time to view the Nets, but it would seem likely."

"Are you prepared to be famous, Mr. Spock?" Jim asked with a grin. "I have no doubt that you're just as much in 'Fleet's crosshairs as McCoy."

The Vulcan crossed his arms in consternation. "I am not."

"Traveling with you will be interesting," Jim told him, "if you're going to be this grumpy about it. Expect the publicity. It will make both of our lives easier."

Spock sighed. "Unfortunately, it is likely the Net journalists will follow us wherever we go."

"Until the next sensation comes along. Being in Iowa should help that."

"I have never asked: where do your mother and Peter live?"

"In Monticello, part of Jones County. It's a small town, and the people there work hard to make it stay that way. Not as much farming as there once was, what with all the hydroponics companies, and sea fisheries around, but still active. It was a good place to grow up."

"And your mother? What does she do?"

"She's a retired veterinarian. Still works with the horses, though. Mom made Monticello famous with the horsing set, because of the remarkable biogenetic breeding and cloning sciences she worked with for so many years. Want a horse with wings? Your racer needs a new kidney? Mom could do it." Jim shrugged. "Not that she was really involved with the designer breeds; she thought a horse that was just a horse was good enough. But she did make me a pegaquine for my 12th birthday. His name was "Peg," of course, and he lived for ten years." Jim smiled at the memory. "Unfortunately, the designer breeds don't live that long, and she warned me that he wouldn't. I was an ensign on _Exeter_ when he passed, and I sat on my bunk and cried. We had a lot of adventures, me and that horse."

"You are looking forward to being there," Spock said, gaze soft in the ambient light.

"I guess I am. It's home, even though I've grown out of it. The memories I have of the house and barns are good ones; even when Mom blew a gasket when I wanted to go to the Academy and we fought for two long years, I was still pretty happy." Jim frowned and gazed down at his hands. "I'm not entirely sure she ever forgave me for going into the 'Fleet. Because of Dad and all."

"My father also was not pleased," Spock said, "but for entirely different reasons than yours. He did not approve of the quasi-military structure of Star Fleet, and its general purpose. And we did not fight. We just did not speak."

"You seemed better after the Babel incident onboard ship." Jim remembered being knifed a little too vividly.

"Yes. My mother was instrumental in our _reapproachment_. She, apparently, had not forgiven Sarek for his intransigence, just as she had not understood my reasoning for my actions. It is a difficult thing for a bonded pair to be so . . . not estranged, but more . . . distant, from one another over an issue. I could not know until now just how difficult a thing it was for them."

Jim considered that. "But we argue."

"Yes, Jim, we do, but not often about personal matters. Until, that is, the other evening."

"Hmm. Yes. About that. . . ."

Spock leaned forward "I know you were not involved with Ms. Ciani, Jim. I knew it then. But it made no difference to my response."

Jim sipped his ale, mournful that the glass was almost empty, but if he drank any more it would land him on his ass. And he wasn't in the mood to get drunk and wake up with a skull the size of Typhon tomorrow. "Your responses are going to have to learn to trust me."

Spock rose and began clearing the table.

"Avoiding the subject?"

"There is little I can do to appease Vulcan biology."

Jim sighed, tired for no reason that he could entirely explain. He helped Spock clean the small space in companionable silence, then took ten steps into their bedroom, stripped off his clothes, and crawled into their bed. It wasn't all that late, so he didn't expect Spock to join him, but he was enormously pleased when he did.

"Are you cold?" Jim asked, turning over to face him.

"I am quite comfortable," Spock replied.

"Comfortable enough to do without this?" Jim asked, pulling lightly on Spock's cotton shirt. He had no idea what possessed him to ask.

The dark head canted somewhat as he thought, and then the shirt was quickly removed. He lay back, and Jim immediately put his head over Spock's chest, running a hand over the warm skin and thick chest hair. "I like this," he said, exploring lightly with his fingertips. Spock was hot to his touch, his skin like silk, chest hair curly and inviting his hand to stay.

Spock said nothing, but his body relaxed even further, and Jim took that for agreement. He slid off to sleep in moments, able to feel the quick thrum of Spock's heart through his skin.


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

 

"Have you advised your mother of our arrival?" Spock asked, looking around the small Monticello Regional Spaceport. They had flown in on a commercial shuttle rather than a 'Fleet shuttle to prevent them from gathering unwelcome attention. Unfortunately, that plan did not seem to be as effectual as he had wished. Apparently, Vulcans were not well known in this part of Earth, and he was gathering quite a bit of attention, even though there were only a few humans milling about

"No, wanted to surprise her," Jim replied, focusing on renting an aircar at the nearby kiosk. The attendant took one look at Jim's credit chip and started to murmur to the other attendant. "It's Admiral Kirk. Look, it's him! It's him!"

"Gentlemen, please, no fuss. I'm just a soldier home on leave," Jim told them with a blatantly false smile. His tone in itself was a warning to anyone with wit. "And I need an aircar to do that."

Spock said nothing. He was quite satisfied to wear his most superior expression, which seemed to work well at keeping any interested bystanders away from him. As he looked about, he noticed a small woman with silvering hair and a familiar smile make her way towards the kiosk. She was dressed in dark pants, boots, and a peach shirt. A pair of well-worn work gloves were half-stuffed into the pocket of her heavy jacket, and her belt appeared to be made of braided rope. She raised a finger to her lips in warning. Spock was silent, and did not warn Jim that in all likelihood, his mother was approaching.

The attendants were beginning to squabble amongst themselves as to which aircar they should receive. "The one with the red racing stripe along the side," one exclaimed. "The Firebird in silver, like his ship!" He was coaxing them to give him anything, when the lady swept up to Jim and leaned over. "Forget it, boys, he's coming with me."

"Mom!" Jim cried, a happy smile lighting up his face. The irritated frown dropped away as though it had never been. "What are you doing here? I wanted to surprise you!"

"Well then, imagine my surprise when that scoundrel Nogura called and told me you were on your way!" She hugged him again, and then pulled back to look at him. "You gave me no time to make any plans."

"That was the idea."

"You look dead beat, Jimmy."

Kirk grimaced. "Please, Mom, it's Jim. I'm 34; I grew out of Jimmy when I was 13."

She chuckled. "Don't be in such a hurry to get older, honey. It's not for the faint of heart."

"You'll never look a day older to me," he assured her, giving her another one-armed hug before turning her to face the Vulcan. "This is Spock."

"As though he could be anyone else," she said, giving a smile, but not attempting to shake Spock's hand. "Whenever there was a show on the net about Jim, there you were, along with that scamp, Leonard McCoy. Where is he, by the way?"

"Hopefully not fighting with his daughter on the moon."

The Kirks happily talking, they began to make their way out to the waiting aircar, a battered, brown version, approximately ten years old, with a logo for the Dancing Horse Ranch along the side. They had to push their way through a crowd of the curious before they could finally get inside of it. Spock had had sufficient physical contact with humans today, between their quarters and this aircar, for the Vulcan to feel psychically exhausted. He was pleased to sit in the rear seat with the luggage and no one else.

Jim leaned back from the seat in front of him, and gently placed a hand on his knee. "You okay?" he asked, his hazel eyes vibrant with excitement and pleasure.

Spock nodded, not finding the discussion of his dislike of casual touching to be an intelligent way to be introduced to his mate's parent.

_You're not okay._

_I will be well soon, Jim. Do not be concerned._

"Jim. Everything okay? I know Iowa in spring is kind of cool for a Vulcan, but I put the heat on high so Spock should be comfortable soon."

"Thank you, Mrs. Kirk—"

"Ack, don't call me that!" she said, with a laugh. "It makes me sound like Jim's grandmother. I'm just Audra."

"As you wish . . . Audra."

"Good. Now Jim, we have to drive through town."

"Mo- _om_!"

"Come on, be a good sport! You're a big deal around these parts, and I want to show you off."

Spock could almost see his mate's eyes roll in frustration. _It is not such a large thing to do for her, th'y'la. And it would make her very happy._

_A little sweet before the sour, huh? Well, if I could do it for Nogura, I can do it for her. But are you up to it?_

_They are not here to see me, but Admiral Kirk, Starfleet hero and favored son of Monticello, Iowa._

As expected, Jim caught the irony.

_Just wait until we get to Vulcan._

_No one will be interested in me, Jim, I can assure you._

Jim turned and gave him a serious glance, but their arrival at an eating establishment called "Java Jones" caused an uproar from all the people lining the street. There was no space between the car and the entrance to even enter without dealing with the residents of the town. Though it was not the case, to Spock, it felt as though all 3,800 members were situated between them and the relative warmth of the restaurant.

Jim was his usual, charming self and he went out of his way to make everyone feel a little of his infectious good-humor. He shook hands, hugged people he hadn't seen in years, and in general, endeared himself to everyone he met. Spock trailed behind him, ignoring the casual thumps and bumps from the residents attempting to get closer to Jim. By the time they were seated in a booth, Spock had a resounding headache, and requested only tea.

"I knew we should've gone straight home, Spock," Jim chastised, his smile flattening out, his face tightening into a frown. "Too many damned people."

"It is nothing, Jim," Spock assured him. "Do not be concerned."

"I'm sorry, Spock, I didn't know you weren't feeling well," Audra added, her concern almost tactile against his skin. The Vulcan did not want to admit how good it felt.

"Spock's a touch-telepath, Mom. Too many people in his space bother him." Jim reached out and took his hand. His touch alone soothed the fiery band around Spock's skull, and he breathed more easily. "Okay, now?"

"Better, thank you."

While Spock drank his tea, Jim ate a large sandwich, and Audra a vegetarian salad. Even as they attempted to enjoy the meal together, people stopped to say hello, or to request Jim's signature, an event which puzzled Spock. He saw no reason to want Jim's signature, as his handwriting was usually scrawled and illegible except to those who had learned to read it.

"What are you wondering about, Spock?" Audra asked, apparently reading his expression. Apparently more than one Kirk held that talent.

"I am perplexed by the desire of the townspeople to gain written proof of Admiral Kirk's identity."

"Oh, they're just autograph hunters," she replied, gently bumping Jim's shoulder when he looked down in disgust. "Jim is a celebrity in Monticello."

"I do not understand."

"They feel like they 'know' me when they have my signature. I don't know, Spock. You know as well as I do that my handwriting is nothing to crow about."

The Vulcan shook his head. "'Crow' about?"

Jim flashed him a rueful smile. "Sorry. It means to tell everyone about; to be proud of."

"It certainly is nothing to 'crow' about," Spock agreed, and both Audra and Jim laughed.

"Never could get that boy to sit still and work on anything that required diligence and patience. Except the horses."

"Except the horses," Jim told her back with a smile. "How's the farm?"

"I have no idea why people love apples so much, but thank god they do. Otherwise, I couldn't keep the ranch going," she told them, putting out her coffee cup for a passing waitress to refill.

"I saw the advertisement on the side of your vehicle," Spock said. "For Dancing Equines?"

Jim laughed. "Dancing Horse Ranch is a hobby of my mother's. She rehabilitates horses, or pretty much anything that needs a home and someone to love it."

"You make me sound like some dotty old cat lady," Audra said. "I am an experienced equestrienne, veterinarian, biogeneticist, and mother, the last of which was more trouble then the other three combined."

Jim kissed her cheek. "Don't be grumpy because we made fun of your latest passion. Five years ago it was endangered timber wolves, which really made her popular around her. That is, until the horses took exception to the wolves, and one had to go. I'm kind of glad it was the wolves; never knew when I'd get a call that her pets had eaten her one day."

Audra elbowed Jim in the ribs. "Enough about me! You two are the exciting bits of news."

"For myself, I would prefer to be less exciting," Spock said, dead-pan.

"I'll second that." Jim smiled at the waitress, took out his credit chip, and paid the bill. Quickly, he shuffled them past those residents who were still wandering outside of "Java Jones" and into the 'car.

Jim drove to the ranch house, and if it took longer because he wanted to take a look at locations he had known when younger, neither Spock nor Audra minded. Spock always enjoyed seeing Jim happy; apparently, his home had been a place of happiness, safety, and satisfactory relations among the inhabitants. Spock looked out of the 'car's windows, noting the landscape of trees and beginning-to-bloom greenery. The temperature was low for a Vulcan, approximately 55 degrees Fahrenheit, but the heavy jacket he wore blocked most of the effects of the cold.

"How's Peter?" Jim asked, and Spock attuned himself back to their conversation.

"He's great, Jim. Looking forward to college. He's going to the University of Iowa, you know." There was a smug tone to her voice that even the Vulcan could hear.

Jim bit his lip; Spock could see it. "Not the best place for a linguist, Mom. He wants to go to New York."

"But I don't _want_ him to go to New York," Audra replied, and Spock could suddenly see where Jim's steely determination came from.

"I figured that out," Jim replied. "We have all the time in the world to fight about it. Later."

"I'm his guardian, Jim. I decide."

"Peter decides, Mom. Not either one of us," Jim told her, pulling into the drive of the Dancing Horse Ranch. "It's his life."

She chuckled, diffusing the tension that had rapidly built up. "Sounds like the fight we had before you went to San Francisco."

"It wasn't _a_ fight, Mom. It lasted from the moment I mentioned going into space to the instant before I took the shuttle to San Francisco."

"And look how that turned out," she said softly, brushing her hand across the back of Jim's head, her fingers combing his hair in blatant affection. "You're an admiral, now. A big fish."

Kirk shook his head. "A little fish in a massive, bureaucratic, treacherous pond."

Spock did not agree. "There are 22 admirals in Starfleet currently," he said. "In June, 8 will retire, 2 will accept medical leave, leaving only 12 on active duty. Out of those 12, Jim was promoted to Deputy Director of Starfleet Operations, a most important position to the Federation."

Jim turned around and glared at him. "Whose side are you on?"

"Yours," Spock replied seriously. "Always."

Jim's irritation vanished from his eyes.

"Your achievements should not be made to appear less than they are."

"That's fine, _Captain_ Spock," Kirk teased. "Come on, Mom, let's go. I'm dying for a piece of apple pie and a cup of real coffee."

Spock took a moment to take in the ranch house proper. It was a two story, white-shingled dwelling, with numerous attachments to it, likely built when the children were born. At the front was a white-railed porch; three steps led up to it. The driveway was gravel, something Spock had never seen before. He bent over to pick it up, curious. Stones. He noticed that there were numerous spots before the house for planting of decorative flowers and bushes giving an overall pleasing esthetic appearance.

Behind the house, approximately ten yards away were white fenced corrals, in varied shapes: rectangles, squares, and circles. Further back, were the barns. Horses of every color stood out in the sunshine in beginning to bloom grass; some ran and played with each other, while others merely seemed to be waiting for someone to do something with them. Having never been near a Terran horse, Spock was interested in the species. Humans worked in the buildings and barns, moving busily about, tending the animals.

"Where are the apple trees?" Spock asked, as they made their way into the house. He sighed; it was warm inside and the sweater he wore beneath his jacket would be enough to keep him comfortable.

"About an acre east of the barns," Jim told him, taking Spock's coat and his own and placing them on the rack in the entrance hall. It was stacked with various boats, boots, gloves, hats, and raingear. Another door led them into the kitchen, a huge, open space with an island in the center, with stools around it. The decoration was somewhat antique, but the appliances were all modern and well-kept. The room sparkled from the sunshine pouring through the windows, their hangings pulled aside. Past the kitchen was a large living room, with many plump, well-used couches and chairs. A small desk on the left was littered with materials, and a computer terminal. To the right, was a collection of vids and holos in a static position, showing the Kirk family through many years.

It reminded him of his mother's personal rooms at Shi'Kahr. She called it "lived-in," and when young Spock had enjoyed the comfort and less-antiseptic atmosphere of her space, than the rest of the house. She also had many pictures as she called them of family and friends. It was the only place Sarek wouldn't intrude upon her, and so she felt comfortable keeping her mementos there.

"Peter should be home from school soon, He had a meeting of his language club," Audra told them, bathing her hands at the sink. "I need to go check a foaling. Want to come?" she asked.

"I think I'll go drop in on Peter."

Audra laughed. "Oh, Jim. That would just make him so happy. Everyone at school has been badgering him as to when you're coming to visit."

"I might as well get it over with." Jim looked at Spock. "Want to come with me?"

Spock considered that: a group of over-excited human adolescents, or a chance to view some of Jim's favorite animals? "I will remain and attend your mother."

Jim nodded. "See you later." He was gone a moment later, and Spock could hear the aircar purr to life and then the sound of its engines as the car climbed and sped away.

"That boy never could sit still," Audra grumbled good-naturedly. "But then, neither can I. Come on, Spock. Butterfly is foaling today and I want to make sure it's going well. She's not the youngest girl we've got."

The Vulcan followed Audra to the barns, a large structure of wood, and fibrelast, containing large boxes with metal bars over the front. Each door was closed, but not locked. Other boxes toward the rear of the barn had no doors, and it was to one of these, a 12' x 14' area covered in dry straw, that Audra led Spock. "This is Butterfly," she told Spock, turning to the young man who was present and watching the proceedings. Two other men were inside the stall.  "And this is Matt. He's been keeping an eye on Butterfly for me. How's she's doing?"

Spock listened while one of the men talked about the mare, a large, dark horse, who was presently straining.

"She's about to go, doc. 'm glad you got here in time. Worried she might have problems. She's pretty anxious."

In a large bag to the left of Matt, Spock saw a number of items: an antiseptic, towels, some kind of clamp, a flashlight, wrapping tape, scissors, and an enema kit.

"You cleaned her up, and re-wrapped her tail this morning, like I told you?"

"Just like you said."

"How long has she been pacing?" Audra asked, leaning in, but not getting too close to the large animal.

"About two hours," Matt replied, brushing strands of long, dark hair out of his face. He looked to be approximately 14 years of age and have a whipcord kind of strength about him. His brown eyes were plainly focused on the mare, and he didn't even turn his head to answer Audra's questions.

"If she's going to stand, we need to tie her up." The doctor moved into the stall and grasped the halter at the animal's head, speaking to her softly the entire time. Apparently, Butterfly didn't care for that, and snapped, her teeth barely missing the diminutive doctor.

"Whoa, girl. Easy does it! Didn't expect her to be so irritable," the woman grumbled.

When the horse began to kick, Spock pulled the doctor out of the small space, and quickly moved to her head. He held the halter, grounding her gently to the earth. He reached for her mind, staggered by the distress and fear he found there. He held her in the cool serenity of his own, soothing her nerves. The horse became calmer under his hands, and soon he could release the halter and just use his hands, remaining patient as she began her contractions.

"Well, hell, that's a neat trick," one of the men said from his safe position outside the stall. "She's as quiet as a kitten with him."

Spock ignored them. He had little appreciation of men who would allow a frightened and dangerous animal to harm anyone, least of all their employer. The two men had vacated the stall when Butterfly began to kick, and it was doctor Audra who had eased the foal from the birth canal to the straw, still encased in most of the umbilical sac except from around its mouth and nose. As she removed the placenta, the doctor retained the cord, allowing the foal to benefit from the blood remaining in the placenta, which was still attached to the uterus, and pulsing gently.

"Be careful there, Spock," Audra warned. "New moms can get suddenly aggressive when you least expect it."

Spock glanced at the animal. At present, the mare's head was resting on his shoulder, and he was petting her neck. Her temperament was quiet and serene now that the hard part was over, and she didn't even look when her foal was born.

Audra cleaned the foal with a towel, giving him a rough warming up. He lay, somewhat dazed, behind the mare, passively allowing the doctor to do whatever she wanted to him. After a half-hour, she crushed the umbilical cord and separated it three inches from the body before dipping it in the antiseptic Matt held out. The afterbirth arrived somewhat later, completely filling a two-gallon bucket.

When Spock released her mind, Butterfly was suddenly aware that the difficulty was behind her and she turned to clean the foal with a rough tongue. He was the same dark brown as his mother, with a white star on his forehead, and four white feet. "Let's allow them to get to know one another. I could use a cup of coffee."

"Sid, take the membranes to the lab and let Dana do her thing with them. I doubt that there's any problem, but it never hurts to check. In a couple of hours, I'll come out and check them both over. Milk her out, and start the enema on our new boy here." She turned to the young man. "So, Matt, since he's going to be yours, what do you want to call him?"

Matt sent a quick glance Spock's way. "I don't know. What did you do to Butterfly, sir?"

"I composed her with the aid of Vulcan mind techniques. She was alarmed, and not in the best frame of mind for what she was required to do."

"Could you teach me how to calm horses like that?" he asked, the longest sentence Spock had heard from the young man yet. "I mean, would you?"

Spock nodded. He liked the boy's quiet strength. "As much as I can teach you while I am here, I will, Matthew, if you will teach me about equines."

The boy's smile was effervescent, and Spock finally understood what that meant. Perhaps it was an emotion only attributable to young humans.

"You did the most work with Butterfly today, sir. What would you name him?"

Spock was nonplussed; he had no idea what this youth would think appropriate. "Is it necessary to name him immediately, Matthew? Would it not be better to learn his nature before perhaps giving him a name that does not suit?"

Matthew thought about it. "Yes. I'll wait."

Spock nodded, and followed Audra out of the barn and into the cool afternoon air.

"That took longer than I thought. Jim and Peter should be home already," Audra murmured before trudging over to an ancient pump and thrusting her hands beneath an invisible sensor for water. Spock did the same, though the water was quite cold. He walked quietly next to the doctor as they trudged towards the house.

"I've known people who could talk to animals before, Spock, but never one who could reach into their mind like that. It would be a useful thing for Matt to be able to do." She looked up at him, and he noticed that she and her son shared similar eyes. Jim's were a more mutable green-gold, but the shape was the same. "Thank you, by the way. Matt would not have dealt well with Butterfly dropping a bad foal because she was fractious."

Spock nodded. "I am pleased to be of assistance. It was an . . . interesting experience."

She grinned up at him. "So what do horses think?"

"They are creatures of the immediate, as many others are. Why did you name her Butterfly?"

"She came here with that name, from a facility that couldn't use her for trail riding any longer, but couldn't bear to put her down. When you see her in the fields, she seems to float when she's trotting." The doctor thrust her hands deeper into her pockets. "This is her last foaling; I won't risk her life for it and she's past her prime as it is. If she hadn't come to be already pregnant, I wouldn't have allowed it."

Spock held open the side door into the kitchen, and was immediately enveloped into the scent of coffee and fresh baking products. Jim and he presumed, Peter, sat at the kitchen table, chuckling about something they had been discussing.

"Mom, what have you been feeding this kid? He's huge!" Jim exclaimed, moving close to Spock, and looking into his mate's eyes. Apparently satisfied, he turned back to his parent.

Peter Kirk was a copy of his mother, only on a much larger scale. He stood approximately 6'4", and was remarkably thin. His hair, which Spock had remembered as being somewhat sandy in color, had turned a rich, dark auburn, and his freckles had faded somewhat. His eyes were a deep, dark blue, and Spock saw a rich and insightful intelligence within their depths. They gazed at one another, taking each other's measure.

"I am pleased to meet you again, Mr. Kirk."

The teenager smiled, and the family resemblance to his uncle was plain to see. He would be a handsome man when completely grown. "The pleasure is mine, Mr. Spock. And it's Peter, please. I still remember the time you took on the _Enterprise_ to teach me chess."

Jim sent him an appreciative glance that Spock felt as a gentle stroke across his cheek. The traumatized child had needed something to engage his mind, and chess had fit the moment. "Do you still play?" Spock asked, accepting the cup of black tea from Jim, and wrapping his chilled fingers around it.

"On the Net, mostly. Not many people here place 3D chess at my level." There was no arrogance in his statement, or an ounce of pride; his skill was merely fact.

"Excellent. I would appreciate a game or two."

"Me, too," Jim agreed. "Spock beats me regularly," he exaggerated. "Maybe you'll be less difficult to trounce."

Peter grinned. "Don't count on it, Uncle Jim. I'm a candidate master now."

"Nobody tells me anything," Jim complained, but gave his nephew a congratulatory clap on the shoulder. "When did this happen?"

"About three weeks ago," Peter said. "Gram, how did Butterfly do?"

"She is the dam of a bouncing baby boy, thanks to Spock here," Audra replied. "Did you plan on letting those cookies burn, Peter? Or did you want to eat them?"

The boy rolled his eyes, and went to rescue the singed dough. While they ate, Audra talked about the horses, and the mare's difficulties. "Hero of the day," Audra announced, toasting Spock with a cookie and her coffee cup.

Uncomfortable with praise for such a simple thing, the Vulcan changed the subject. "Were your friends contented with meeting Admiral Kirk?"

Jim gave him a speaking look. "Why wouldn't they be?"

"Don't start reading your own press now, Jim," Audra teased. "So, Peter, what did they think of our hometown celebrity?"

"It was so cool," the young man enthused. "Uncle Jim was just standing outside of the school when class let out, and everybody went crazy when they realized who he was. Principal Venera came out and insisted he come into the auditorium and give a speech, and then he sat on the stage and answered questions for a long time. Everybody was wildly impressed."

"Even Jillian?" Audra asked.

Peter gave a smug smile. "She was hanging on to me the entire time."

"You always could get the girls interested, Jim," Audra said with a bemused shake of her head. "You just never kept any of them long enough."

Jim gave Spock a glance and the Vulcan didn't respond. It was a discussion for another time.

"So, tell me there's no parade or anything tomorrow, Mom. Please."

"Nope. No parade, but that is an idea. . . ."

"Don't even _think_ about it," he said, grabbing her from behind and planting a kiss solidly on her weathered cheek. "I want to spend time with my family, not the entire town."

"People will stop by, Jim. Not only for you, but you brought a Vulcan with you. We don't get to see many aliens in eastern Iowa. No offense, Spock."

"None taken, Audra."

"We're here on vacation, Mom," Jim told her sharply. "Just remember that when you're making your plans to invite the mayor, the city council, and the governor."

She shook her head. "I'll do what I can to head off the hordes, Admiral, but you have to expect some attention."

"I'm not an admiral at home."

"Then, son, don't give orders."

Jim opened his mouth, and then shut it just as abruptly. Peter nodded, an impish expression on his young face. "You know we can't win an argument with her. We never have. We never will. Just yield gracefully."

Audra gave a chuckle, and began to prepare a meal for the evening. Peter rose to help her, their movements suggestive of a routine that they had created over many evenings like this one.

Finally warm again, Spock removed his coat and hung it in the entrance hall. He slipped off his boots as well, since everyone else had done so. It was an unusual sensation; rarely did Spock ever walk without boots, but the floors were heated and it was a relaxing feeling. He moved to the sink to wash his tea cup, but Peter deftly took it from his hand and cleaned it himself.

"Thanks for helping with Butterfly. Gram was worried."

"Understandably so."

"You're a vegetarian, right? No meat, dairy, or fish."

"Exactly. Thank you for remembering."

"We humans are pretty omnivorous, but I don't eat meat or fish either. Gram screams about it, but I haven't since before I came here."

Spock thought for a moment. "There were no meat animals on Deneva."

"Nope."

His tone held no emotion whatsoever, an indication that Peter Kirk still retained much of his initial pain from that grave time period. Spock quickly changed the subject. "You are very tall for your family."

"Yeah. It's my Mom's genes," Peter said, quickly making a salad with dexterous fingers. "All the men in her family are giants."

Unaware that Peter knew his mother's family well, Spock asked, "Do you see them often?"

"No, not so much. We mostly vid to each other, but we manage to stay in touch."

Spock moved away to where Jim was looking over the barns and corrals from the living room windows.

"Is it so different?" he asked softly.

Jim gave him a bittersweet smile. "No, not really. As much as I love my life – our life – I still wish I could be a bigger part of theirs, rather than this ridiculous celebrity who visits every five or ten years."

"It is possible while we are stationed on Earth, Jim. As an admiral, you will have your own shuttle to travel anywhere you wish. We need not be so distant."

"You're right. I can take advantage of my 'perks' as admiral to see Peter and Mom more often. Though if he goes to Andara to college, that will be a little problematic."

Spock considered his mate. "I understand you do not want this sense of familial contentment to vanish when your mother learns of our relationship. Rather than deal with that issue, you are creating others to distract you."

Jim grimaced, but nodded. "And you have been listening to McCoy's psychobabble just a little too intently."

"Only where you are concerned, _th'y'la_. And it is not only McCoy's overly human emotions that advise me in this; it is having been at your side for the past five years, and watching you when uncertain or hesitant on your course of action. A situation, I would add, that does not occur frequently."

"She's going to blow a gasket!"

"Perhaps. What will you do if she does? The situation cannot be changed without the death of both of us. Is that what she would wish for a beloved son?"

"Of course not. I just—"

"What are you whispering about, Jim?" Audra had crept up on them unawares. "Everything all right?"

"We were just talking. About here. About . . . life."

Her gaze went from concerned to assessing in moments. "You have something on your mind, my boy," she told him, her hazel eyes taking in the both of them. "And you can tell me all about it after Peter goes to bed. Unless it concerns him?"

"No."

"Good. Dinner will be ready in ten minutes."

Audra stepped outside and rang an old bell of some kind. Spock could see a narrow figure racing out of the barn, over the corrals, and up to the house. Matthew quickly tossed his coat, gloves and hat onto the overflowing rack, slid out of his shoes, and ran upstairs. By the time the meal was on the table, the boy had returned, freshly showered and dressed.

"Hi," Jim said, sitting next to the young boy. "I'm Jim."

"Matt. Hi, Spock. Butterfly's is doing great."

"That is very good to hear, Matthew."

"I heard that Spock saved the day," Peter added, and the two boys were off on a conversational tangent that Spock could barely keep track of, it spun so quickly from topic to topic.

Audra piled a plate with food for Spock, and he accepted it with a sense of concern. "It is no wonder Peter is so tall."

Audra chuckled, and blushed. "I'm sorry, Spock. I'm so used to feeding boys that are starving from one meal to the next that I forgot you didn't eat that way."

Jim leaned over and with a fork took half of what had been liberally ladled onto Spock's plate. "I do."

"You'd think at your age, you wouldn't."

"At my age? I'm not a relic yet, Mom."

"No, but you are going to have to start taking care of your figure, Jim-boy. Fat admirals are a disgrace."

"I swear you and Bones went to the same school," Kirk grumbled.

"I'm a vet, darling, and a biogeneticist."

And he's a xenobiologist, and an M.D. I still think your paths crossed somewhere before I brought him home. It was all a deft plot to keep me in your sights."

She laughed. "That's right, Jim. You ferreted out my clever plan."

Spock ate far more than he intended, but the food was fresh and flavorful. They helped clean up after the meal. Spock settled down in the living room with Peter, to play a game of chess while Jim and Audra returned to the barn to check on the horses. Matt settled on the floor to do his homework.

"Do you live here, Matthew?" Spock asked.

"Uh-huh. Audra took me in a year ago."

Spock nodded. It was not unusual on Vulcan for families to accept the children of those who had passed on.

Peter grimaced; while he was a good player, he was not in Spock's or Jim's league yet. "I think you've got me," he mumbled. "How did you do that?"

"I used the Lasker-Bauer combination, followed by the Bodens-Mate middle-game strategy, Peter. Have you heard of them?"

"Yes, but I've never seen them done before."

"Then I will teach you the movements and when best to use them."

The balance of the evening was spent in the pursuit of victory, but all too soon, Jim and Audra returned, and it was time for boys to be in bed. Both complained about it, wanting "just fifteen more minutes," but Audra just looked at them, her hands on her hips and an eloquent expression in her eyes. The youths decided retreat was the best option.

Audra returned to the kitchen to make yet another pot of coffee, and after putting away the chess set, the adults settled around the kitchen table.

"All right, Jim, let's have it," Audra told him with a no-nonsense tone to her voice. "What bomb are you going to drop on me now?"

"I wouldn't call it a bomb, Mom. It's good news, actually."

She didn't respond, just waited for him to speak.

"You know how you always wanted me to come back here, raise a family, give you grandkids . . .?" Jim's hands played with his coffee cup, and he wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Ye-es. And?"

"I won't be doing that."

She didn't move. She didn't even appear to blink. "And?"

"Spock . . . and I . . . are involved. Together."

All color left Audra's face, so that her eyes seemed to bulge.

The Vulcan sighed. This was the best his bond-mate could do, to convey an issue of such importance?

"Together. As in . . . together?" she asked, her palms meeting, her voice hoarse.

"Yes, Audra," Spock told her, deliberately overriding whatever Jim was going to say. "We are Bonded; a form of permanent marriage by my people."

If possible, her face became that much paler. "Permanent? No contracts?"

"No. Vulcan . . . marriages . . . are lifelong."

"Great gods and little fishes." Her exclamation was soft, so low he could barely hear it. Jim didn't move; he seemed to be utterly frozen, waiting for her further response.

Audra was silent for a long time.

When she looked up, her face had nearly regained its normal composure. Jim leaned forward to hear what she had to say, anxiety written in every line of his frame.

She licked her lips and then muttered almost too low for them to hear.

"Thank heaven it wasn't McCoy."

 


	9. Chapter 9

Some time later, Jim was lying on the living room floor, a stiff drink by his hand. He was staring at the ceiling, apparently admiring the whitewash opposite the wooden strapwork. Spock was settled on the couch, looking through the holofilms of Jim's youth, Audra pointing out family members and giving a fuller background to the holos.

"What did you expect me to do, Jim?" Audra asked, nudging him with her toe. "Throw a shoe at you? Develop histrionics? Toss you from the house, never to darken my door again? Good lord; it's a good thing you didn't go into acting. You would have starved. I knew the minute you walked through the door that you were scared spitless about something."

"You haven't actually been . . . subtle about your desire for children, Mom. What the hell was I supposed to think when I brought home a very male Vulcan?"

"You were supposed to use that lump on your shoulders and remember I'm no idiot, boy." She nudged him harder. "You never brought home a woman after Carole Marcus, before you left on _Enterprise_. Every holo, vid, or letter I received was, "Spock did this. . .," or "Spock did that. . .." And when you brought him here, I thought, okay, it's a done deal. He's decided. Finally, I might add."

Jim sat up and took another swig of the bourbon his mother had thoughtfully provided when it appeared her son was going to pass out in Spock's arms. "Bah, humbug," he growled, "Women's intuition," and lay back down.

 _I can't help but wonder if she's as unruffled as she appears to be,_ Jim asked.

_It might be as well to remember that she has Peter as well as Matthew here. I can not help but wonder if she is training Matthew to take over the ranch and farm when she is gone, to give Peter the freedom to do as he wishes._

_Hmm. Something to think about._

"Well, boys, I'm an old woman and its time I went to bed," Audra said, smiling tiredly, rising and leaving the holos with Spock.

Jim got up and gave her a kiss on the cheek and a hug. "Are you sure I wasn't adopted?"

She gave a cackling laugh. "You should be so lucky. Nope, you're part of this funny farm, and don't you forget it."

He watched her go to her room opposite the kitchen with an enigmatic smile. Kirk locked the house up for the night before taking Spock's hand and leading him upstairs. "Mom always slept in the big bedroom downstairs, just in case she had a night call for her practice and needed to get out without waking us. My room is up here, to the right." He opened the door and walked inside, turning on the old-fashioned light fixture.

Kirk looked around, and then looked again. He appeared surprised, his head moving right to left. "Guess she turned it into a guest room," Jim murmured vaguely.

Spock walked further inside. There was a large bed, and the room was adequately furnished. Their luggage rested by an antique and valuable bureau, well preserved, as were the chairs and headboard. An open door led into the facilities. Opposite the bed were double windows, giving a handsome view of the drive and roadway, as well as large open fields, planted with corn. A desk looked out onto the drive. The space had been well-designed and decorated, paintings of horses on the walls, a design motif taken up by the bedspread and draperies.

Yet there was nothing here of Jim, or his youth.

"You are disturbed, _th'y'la_ ," Spock murmured, moving closer to his bond-mate. "It is not as you expected?"

Kirk shrugged, but hurt was contained in the flat line of his lips.

Spock wished to remove his pain, but knew not how to accomplish it.

"She put all my things away, in the attic, I guess. With Matt and Peter taking up the other bedrooms, Mom had no where to put an overnight guest." His voice was soft, the ache couched in his words. "It was silly for me to think that it would all stay the way it was. I mean, I'm never here. I've visited twice in fifteen years; other times she came to 'Frisco."

Hoping to ease his pain, Spock said, "I also do not stay in the family residence when I return to Vulcan."

"That's because things are still strained between you and your father," Jim replied absently, teeth worrying at his lower lip. "Normally, wouldn't a Vulcan return home and stay there when he's visiting?"

Spock nodded. "Perhaps, dependent on the situation."

Kirk dismissed that and straightened his shoulders, pushing the slight wound away. "It doesn't matter. I want a shower and to read a little before bed."

Well aware of Jim's method of dealing with small, personal pain like this, Spock let him go. He removed his computer pad from his luggage and placed it upon the table and began to check his mail, leaving Jim to do as he would without interference.

It was well into Earth night by the time he had completed his work. Though they were 'on vacation,' a concept Spock did not completely understand, 'Fleet continued to update him on all the details concerning _Enterprise_ , its refit, and her former crew. He also received texts from all the scientific journals, as well as numerous letters from various colleagues both in 'Fleet and in academic circles. A large volume of invitations had arrived asking for him to speak at Terran educational facilities and research institutes on assorted topics.

It appeared that he would have no lack of work while Earth based. Satisfied, he turned off the pad before preparing for meditation. It was near to dawn by the time he entered the bed, shirtless, pleased that Jim had found his body attractive.

Kirk was awake and looked at him from his pillow.

"You have not slept?"

Jim shook his head. "Had a lot to think about, and we haven't had much chance to do that lately. In the past two months, I've been married, my ship decommissioned, my crew scattered, been interrogated by the brass, promoted to _admiral_ , given a new job, a new life, and gone home."

Spock wasn't concerned. Kirk was adaptable to almost any situation. "Do you wish to discuss any of these events?"

Kirk smiled, and pulled him down to the bed, before placing his head on his shoulder and wrapping his arm about Spock's chest.

"What do you think of Iowa?"

"That is not the subject you wish to discuss, bond-mate. It is much more likely that your mother's calm acceptance of our bond is on your mind."

"And the likelihood of that is?"

"Approximately 42, 288 to 1."

Jim chuckled, just as Spock had intended him to. "Well, given those odds. . . . She did seem to take it far better than I expected."

"Perhaps she had already come to terms with your not returning home. Given your career, it was the most probable outcome." He liked the way Jim was tucked near him, his body cool and smooth, relaxing further as they spoke. His lips brushed against Spock's chest every so often, inciting the nerves to fire indiscriminately, leaving warm, gentle pleasure in their wake.

"In other words, my mother knew better than I did. Not for the first time, I might add. Maybe the change in this room was another way of letting me know she understands."

"Indeed. Or, perhaps, seeing your possessions was too painful, when she did not see you."

Jim's head lifted to gaze at him. "Insightful. But you really are spending way too much time with McCoy." He punctuated his comment with a kiss to his shoulder, and another set of nerves fired, making his skin tingle. He didn't respond.

"Mom's also worried about being able to afford sending Peter to any college. She didn't expect to have to support her grandchild when she retired."

"If her hobby were curtailed. . .?"

Jim shook his head. "Giving up the horses would break her heart, and I'm afraid her spirit, too. She never would have made it through losing Sam and Aurelan without them to occupy her mind and heart, even with Peter here."

"And your financial capability?"

"You know what a captain in 'Fleet makes, Spock," Kirk grimaced. "It's no fortune. I've been sending credits home and that's helped, but it's not enough. And Peter doesn't qualify for financial assistance because of the farm and orchards."

"Is it likely Peter will receive a scholarship?"

"Always possible." Jim smiled, and made himself more comfortable, squirming slightly. "What do you think about Mom's horses?"

It was an abrupt subject change, highlighting Jim's worry about the situation. "I prefer them to timber wolves."

Jim laughed. "Me, too."

"You should rest."

"It's probably too late. Mom will be up in a little while, the boys will be getting to their chores before school, and they'll make a racket."

Spock frowned, but didn't ask the question.

_Sleep, th'y'la. I will wake you when it is necessary._

_You're a little large for an alarm clock._

The Vulcan gently urged his mate to sleep, and Jim sighed, and let himself go.

Spock remained awake, meditating lightly on the Kirk family, and his place within it. He appreciated their ready acceptance of an alien in their midst, and wished that Peter's learning of their relationship would not mar Jim's homecoming. While homophobia was not pronounced on Earth, there were pockets where it was thriving; xenophobia could only be present to a higher degree within the rural population. Such irrational fear could be found on almost any planet within the Federation, but it was never encouraged and considered more a mental aberration than a social response.

He would have to urge Jim within the next few days to view his mail. If Spock were receiving invitations, then Kirk would be as well. Though he would most likely refuse all requests, citing work, unless 'Fleet pressed him. Nevertheless, the funds from these speaking events could cover Peter's educational expenses if handled correctly.

Spock listened absently as the house awoke. Jim slept placidly through it all, an indication of how mentally exhausted he was. The Vulcans did not keep their ships in deep space for any longer than four years, finding that length of time to be more conducive to ship's harmony and the relative health of all shipmates. They were able to return to space more quickly and with better results that the human crews. But 'Fleet was resisting any changes based on what worked positively for Vulcans. Sarek believed that the tradition of five years was what maintained the extra year, rather than any constructive outcomes and Spock did not argue the point since his own research into 'Fleet practices indicated the same.

A soft knock on the door and Audra's voice interrupted his musings.

"Breakfast in five."

Jim opened his eyes, but there wasn't much life in them yet.

"You could rest further. We are not on board ship."

"Bad habit to get into," Jim mumbled, and naked, made his unsteady way to the facilities. Spock sat up and admired the view, before he too, left their bed and began the day.

 

 

A knock on their bedroom door disturbed Spock from his work late that afternoon. Focused on recent Bose equation calculations determining the spatial integrity of the universe as related to warp travel, it took a moment for him to pull away a portion of his mind from the screen. "Come."

"Yes?" he asked, without turning around.

"I'm sorry to bother you. I'll come back."

"No, Matthew," he said aloud, recognizing the hesitant voice, though his mind was still interpreting the author's results. "You have come for your lesson?"

The boy nodded, clearly nervous. Spock reconsidered his tone and gentled it. "Good. Please, take a seat."

Matthew carried a chair over to where Spock was sitting. Spock evaluated the boy as he moved, searching deeper than he had yesterday, analyzing the aura he presented carefully. Without searching his mind or even reaching out to touch him, Spock could tell that Matthew had not been gently raised. His body was tense, ready to escape if needed, and his eyes darted about the room.

"There is nothing to fear, Matthew. I will not hurt you."

Brown eyes the color of a sehlat pup looked into his own, searching for their own brand of truth. "Okay," he said, after a while.

Spock nodded. "Close your eyes. Relax your body. You will not be able to calm any animal if you do not present a serene aspect yourself."

It took a long time for Spock to teach the youngster the basic relaxation techniques. After two hours, Matthew was tired, his body trembling with the need to remain still. He had not touched the boy's mind yet but he was gaining his trust, and it would be required to teach Matthew anything further. Whenever Spock moved, the boy jumped, so that it took time and patience to coax him into releasing his fear.

"How did I do?" Matthew asked, running a hand through his tangled hair, bouncing up from his chair.

"Well enough," Spock replied, having found it was useful to encourage young humans while he taught them. "There is no need to fear me, Matthew. I am not a carnivore, and will neither eat nor beat you."

"I know. Audra says Vulcans are peaceful." From his tone, her opinion held more weight than any deity. "It's just . . . my Pop hit me a lot. I kind of expect it from guys."

Spock nodded, though he could not understand abuse. "No civilized person harms a child, Matthew. I am a StarFleet officer and a Vulcan; my integrity is absolute. You will be in no danger in my presence." He could not put any more intensity into his voice.

The boy smiled, and for the first time, loosened his stance. "I kind of know that already."

"Good. Can you return again tomorrow at this time?"

"Uh-huh. Want to do chores with me tomorrow morning? I start at five."

Spock nodded. "Indeed. I will meet you at the barn."

The boy grinned again, and sped off, to do whatever it was that young humans did with their time. Spock shook his head and returned to his equations.

 

 

By the end of the week, Jim was feeling more relaxed then he had in years. He was in no hurry to go anywhere else. He was surrounded by family and friends, and Spock was here. What more could he want?

Thankfully, though there were frequent visits from what felt like everyone in the state he'd ever met, and those in government office, they didn't overwhelm the little house, and all visits were afternoon affairs, broken up by the arrival of Peter or Matthew from school. Afterwards, Jim would usually retreat to the barns, helping the hands and feeding the horses apples he'd taken from the orchards during his morning walks with Spock.

He smiled whenever he thought about Spock and Matthew. The boy was teaching the Vulcan all about horses, from bailing hay, to the proper ratio of feed to hay, and the amount of water to give them. It was obvious that Matthew had a way with the huge animals under his care, and they showed him complete affection in return for his love. They followed Spock around like oversized dogs whenever he came close to them, which made both Jim and his mom chuckle whenever they saw it. He didn't need lines or halters to keep them near to him; they just blithely went where he did, and whinnied in complaint when he left.

Today, Spock was going to go for a ride, and not just around the paddock. Jim thought he'd want to be around for that. They'd picked Morgan, a large, big-boned Friesian for the job of carting the Vulcan around, the strongest horse on the place. Unfortunately, he was also a little high-strung.

"Jim, that horse is too big for him!" Mom argued, standing by his side, leaning on the fence. "He'll never be able to hold Morgan back if he's startled."

Kirk shook his head. "Spock is strong enough to pick up the tractor, Mom. He weighs a lot more than you think he does, too. All that Vulcan bone density and muscle mass are hard on an average horse, so he needs something bigger."

She frowned at him, but didn't disagree. Jim vaulted the fence and went to his own mount, a dapple-gray mare named Molly, who was placid enough to keep Morgan calm. He was in the saddle when Spock led Morgan out. The black gelding was a lot larger than Jim remembered, but he was as sedate as an old field mare in Spock's hands. The Vulcan swung into the saddle without difficulty and Morgan didn't budge under his weight. With a grin, Jim led them off on their first, real ride together. He packed a small, picnic lunch, and headed towards a fallow orchard field not too far away.

Spock, as Jim had come to expect, rode a horse as he did everything else: faultlessly. His hands were in perfect position, fingers gently holding the reins, feet comfortably set for his height and long legs in the stirrups of the western saddle. What it had taken Jim a long summer to learn as a kid, Spock managed in a week. If he didn't look so good on the Friesian, Morgan's long mane moving gently in the breeze, a concealed smile on the Vulcan's lips, Jim would have been a little miffed. But it was a beautifully warm day for Iowa in April, and Kirk wasn't about to complain about anything.

"I believe I understand now why so many humans are fascinated by riding horses," Spock said, his face turned up to the sun. "There is an unusual sense of freedom to be found in the activity."

Jim smiled; only Spock would attempt to define something as emotive as riding a good horse on a lovely day in a sentence so prosaic. "Something like that," Jim agreed, hoping Spock did really understand.

A little under 3 kilometers they arrived at the orchards' borders, and moved inside the orderly rows to Jim's favorite spot at the edge, near an old-growth forest.

"Will others ride here today?"

"No. There are trail rides from mid-June to early October, walking tours, picnics, hayrides and the obligatory apple picking. Mom has a manager who deals with all of that. The only part she's involved with is the rides and the finances."

"I did not note the name of the orchard. Is it as colorful as the dancing horses motif of the stables?"

Jim gave a chuckle. "No. It's been called 'The Grove' since before anyone living can remember. The orchards have been here since 1892 and the local houses built by German, Swedish and Norwegian immigrants as they homesteaded. Mom keeps a Jenny's Garden, too."

"A Jenny's Garden?"

"Yes. It's full of flowers from that time period, before bio-agriculture changed the way flowers and crops were grown." He waved his hand in the general direction. "East of the barns is the family farm, also from that time period. All of our produce is grown there, using soil and the old techniques. It's anachronistic, I know," Jim said, to forestall the lecture he thought Spock was about to give him, "but people enjoy the taste of it and buy bags of the stuff."

The Vulcan nodded. "I will admit that your mother's foods are remarkably palatable. I have enjoyed the variety of vegetables she provides for our meals."

"She thinks you're too skinny," Jim added, dismounting and giving Molly a pat before tying her to a tree a few yards off.

Spock gave off an almost irritated grunt as he tied Morgan to the same tree as Molly. It was a topic that McCoy probably brought up at every physical he gave to the Vulcan. "I am as I am," he almost grumbled.

Jim smiled and tossed down the blanket he had brought underneath the flowering branches of the ancient tree. The white flowers had fallen everywhere, and green shoots were beginning to be seen on the trees. Verdant green grass sprung like a new carpet beneath their shoes. The ground wasn't soggy, just soft enough to be comfortable to sit on and hard enough that they didn't squelch when they walked.

Spock placed the picnic cloth just so, and they proceeded to rifle through the basket's contents. Cider from last year's pressing soothed their thirst, and sandwiches and salads were devoured. "I have no idea why I'm so hungry. It happens every time I go on leave." Jim picked at the cherry tomatoes that Spock hadn't eaten. "You like chick peas?" he asked, leaving them with a grimace.

"Very much," Spock agreed, folding his hands across his lean stomach. "They take on the flavor of the other ingredients."

"They'd have to – it's not like they have any of their own."

"Indeed?" Spock countered with a raised eyebrow. "I do not like the small purple seeded fruits you enjoy so much. I saw Audra take the container away from you last evening and yet you persisted in finding and eating them."

Jim laughed. "Red grapes? Ghod, I love them. They're delicious!" He cast a teasing glance at the Vulcan. "Maybe you don't have taste buds sufficiently sensitive to enjoy them."

Spock ignored that comment, refusing to be baited. Instead, he changed the subject. "Did you spend much time at the farm when you were young?"

"We worked the farm, orchard and barns, starting from when we could walk. I was fond of chasing the ducks and geese when I was small. We always had a couple of dogs around the place then, and it was their job to keep me in line. They had this particular bark, I remember, that warned anyone around me that I was getting into trouble at that moment. It worked, too, until I learned to bribe them with food." Jim smiled. "Mom's veterinary office was in the house then, and she kept her patients in a small stable and paddock. First it was so Dad would have an interesting place to come home to, then it was so that one of us could take over the family farm, and now. . . .  I thought about what you said, about Matt and Peter being replacements for Sam and me, and I think you're right. At least, in the carrying-on-the-family-name way."

"No one could replace you, Jim," Spock told him softly, before taking back the remnants of his salad, and looking dejectedly down at the bowl, empty of everything edible but the chick peas.

"Let's see if you say that in fifteen years."

"I see no reason why I would not, other than this penchant you have for eating my meals for me."

Jim shook his head in bemusement, lay back on the blanket and looked up into the sky, immediately seeing a dragon rising up in the clouds above him. Spock leaned against the trunk of the apple tree, and followed his gaze upwards. "What do you see?" he asked curiously.

It was a game they often played when planet-side. "An oriental dragon, like the ones they have in zoos on Zara 3. And over there," Jim pointed to a particularly small, fluffy cloud, "is a Ninne fox, the small ones with the bat-like ears." Kirk shook his head. "I still don't know how they can manage to hunt anything with those things whacking into the brush around them."

"Fortunately, most of their prey does not move very quickly."

"I hope mine doesn't either," he mumbled, but Spock heard him anyway.

"What prey would that be?"

"You," Jim said, tilting his head back to look up at his . . . _lover_. It hit him again, all at once, the magnitude of what they'd done. He felt breathless with anticipation of the future.

"Ah. But I am simple to catch." Spock bent down and swiftly kissed him, backing away quickly. "And difficult to keep."

Jim's grin widened. "You seem tame enough to me."

At that moment, a cloud thrust itself across the sun, casting shadows across their previously sunny orchard. And in the next, he was in Spock's arms. Hot lips caressed his face, nuzzling across his eyes, nipping at his lips. "Make no mistake, _thy'y'la_. I am the fiercest creature known. Only under your hands am I obedient." He made his point with a kiss that Jim felt down to his toes.

Kirk tried to keep up, but his brain felt like heated sludge and his wit deserted him. His body was suddenly too warm in the cool air, and he shivered. Spock only held him tighter, easily crushing him closer with casual strength, his tongue making darting forays between Jim's lips, seeking, demanding, taking what he desired. All Jim's vaunted experience left him and he felt much like a virgin in the grip of his first passion. And there was Spock's consciousness too, vivid images flashing through Jim's mind, inciting further arousal even though they were too quick for his mind's eye to take in and process properly before the next began.

In moments he was panting, weak, yet hard as stone, falling back in Spock's arms and moaning when Spock turned his head slightly to nip at his throat. His pulse was thunder in his ears. Spock's hands on his body, beneath his shirt and sweater, mapped trails of tenderness and possession over his skin. He placed Jim on the blanket before his heated mouth reconnoitered his abdomen, nuzzling and biting at the flesh above his pants as if in irritation at its presence.

At the moment, Jim was more than ready to toss the jeans, but then Spock distracted him with another searing kiss and whatever thought processes he'd maintained until then vanished like smoke in a gale. Fingers brushed against his nipples at the same time that a hard leg carefully separated his knees and rested against his crotch.

He couldn't help it – he whimpered and began to grind against Spock's leg. The gently simmering flame was brought to such a quick conflagration, he could barely keep up, and the climax rendered him completely insensate for a long moment, caught in the peak of pleasure, until Spock's arms gently brought him back to the here and now.

Jim was breathing like he'd run for kilometers, and his skin was dewed with sweat. He felt completely exhausted, worn out in a way that felt strangely frightening. He trembled, shaking in Spock's arms, while the Vulcan soothed him silently. His shirt and sweater suddenly didn't feel warm enough. Spock curled part of the blanket over him so that he was cocooned within it, and held him there, his body heat seeping through the cotton and into his skin.

He slept then, ravaged in a way he hadn't known in years. By a Vulcan.

His Vulcan.

Later, on the ride back, he asked as casually as he could manage, "Are you going to exhaust and annihilate me every time we have sex?"

"Perhaps. I do not know. You may build up a resistance to my methods."

Kirk let out a low, dirty, chuckle. "No, don't think so."

"So then, we will need to work on your endurance."

It had been a long time since he had felt a neophyte in the art of love, but with Spock he was relearning the emotions involved pretty well. "You didn't climax."

"I was focused on pleasing you, Jim," the Vulcan replied with a slight jade blush. "I felt your emotions, though, and it was quite sufficient. I do not believe I could ever achieve such a release as you do."

"I admit, I've never felt anything like that before."

"Nor I. I believe it is contingent upon the formation of a bond." He frowned. "It is not a matter usually discussed or analyzed."

Jim caught the frustrated tone. "So you didn't expect it either."

"I did not."

Jim focused on what he was feeling from the bond. "And it perturbs you?"

"It reminds me once more that my people are unnecessarily secret about the functioning of life bonds such as ours. I do not know if the circumstances are different for each mated pair, whether this is what all experience or if it only occurs with a human partner."

"Maybe Seyjan will be able to shed some light on it."

Spock said nothing in response and Jim let it go for the moment. Spock would have to come to terms with their sexuality, and with what he could bring out in his lover. Jim could only give him the time and proximity to do just that.

And hope he didn't die of frustration in the meanwhile.

 

 

At the end of three weeks it was time for them to go. Audra complained gently for two days before they started packing, but on the day of their expected departure, she appeared resigned that her son would be leaving her home to go back to his life.

"We'll be based in San Francisco for at least a few years during _Enterprise_ 's refit. How about you, Peter and Matt come for a visit after school lets out?" Jim asked that morning, hoping to assuage the pain in her eyes.

She smiled widely at him and patted his shoulder as she poured more coffee into his cup. "I think that's an excellent idea, Jim. That okay with you, Spock?"

The Vulcan nodded. He had been uncharacteristically quiet since the episode in the orchard and no matter how Jim coaxed, he refused to continue their explorations into the sexual side of their relationship. He could feel that Spock was concerned, even nervous, about Kirk's responses, but Jim was ready for more and it was a silent tug of war between them.

Jim kicked his ankle under the table, and Spock looked at Audra with much more interest in his gaze. "I would be greatly appreciative if you would come to San Francisco and stay for a time. I think it would be beneficial for the young men as well to see the educational possibilities that present themselves there."

"Good. Then it's settled." Given a further opportunity to spend time with them helped Audra push off the doldrums that had been trailing her around the house like a wailing ghost, complete with drape. Jim heaved a silent sigh of relief. "And we can do more research on schools for Peter and Matt."

Audra smiled, grasping Jim's arm. "You've certainly taken to him, Jim. I was concerned that…."

"I'd think I'd been replaced?" Jim nodded and put his arms around her. "Spock says that that's not possible and I believe him. Vulcans never lie." They did bend the truth a little here and there but that was besides the point. "Matt is a great kid stuck in a bad situation and he needed a home. I think you did a really good thing by fostering him, Mom."

"And that neat trick that Spock had taught him works really well. He and that foal, Flynn, are inseparable," she said.

"He worked hard to learn," Spock acknowledged, "and equally as hard to teach me."

Jim nodded. "You've become a master equestrian in the time you've been here. Doubt I'll learn anything that quickly on Vulcan."

"I, as well."

Kirk chuckled. It was no slur on his intellect; he knew Spock was making a logical concurrence. But the affronted expression on Mom's face was hilarious.

He let himself feel the love he had for both of them, and it was such a blend of so many strong and varying emotions that it was near to bringing tears to his eyes. _Don't be such a sap,_ he stridently told himself and avoided Spock's questioning eye. Jim decided to go upstairs and take a look around in the event they'd left anything behind.

It was harder to leave this time than it had been anytime before, and Jim didn't have the faintest clue as to why that should be the case.

 

 

"Audra, there was an issue I wished to discuss with you."

"Will we have time? You need to catch your shuttle, if you're going to make the transport to Vulcan."

"I estimate a two-hour delay in the shuttle schedule as the weather is dismal and causing a significant impediment to travel. Please sit down."

Jim's mother took the nearest chair but managed not to brush against him. He appreciated her care. "Audra, I would be pleased if you would allow me to disburse the funds required for both Matt and Peter's further education. It is in my ability to do so, and it would please both Jim and myself, as well as remove your financial liability. I would not like to see any changes made in the way you live, as I find it a refreshing oasis for both Jim and myself."

Her eyes went wide. "Spock, that's very generous of you. I couldn't possibly—"

He had anticipated her. "Am I not now a member of your family?"

"O-of course," she stammered, and he relentlessly continued, "And is it not within the family's best interests to see to the education of its children?"

"Ye-es," she vacillated. "But Spock, it isn't your responsibility."

"It is the responsibility of all adults to see that children are well cared for."

"It's too much money!" she cried, resisting as much as she was able, but there was a sense of relief he could read on her features. "My funds are sufficient," he told her gently. "I have invested well and often in scientific ventures. I need not disburse any of the capital I have amassed. Only interest payments will be necessary in order to accommodate this expense."

She stared at him with wide eyes, and he was once more reminded of his _th'y'la_. She was still a lovely woman, and in her face he could see how Jim would age over the years. He took her hand in his. "It would greatly please me if you would allow me to help you, Audra."

"Did Jim consent to this arrangement?"

"As of yet, he does not know. I thought to speak with you first. I will advise him, if you agree, at a later date." He hesitated, and then added, "Jim's pride is a significant factor in my decision."

Her eyes narrowed. "But you will tell him."

Spock lowered his head and released her hand. "I will tell him. I keep no secrets from him." He depended on her being as pragmatic as her son.

She took a few minutes to think the situation through. Then she said, "I am grateful beyond measure, Spock. But you aren't a piggy-bank, and as you say, we have our pride. If you will pay for the school and housing, then Jim and I will take care of the rest."

By the tilt of her chin, he knew this was not an argument he would win, and so gracefully relinquished the fight. "Agreed."

"Then we have a deal."

Jim's tread on the stair broke them apart, like two conspirators caught in the act. Spock began to calmly discuss the weather and his mate's curious glance faded in the preparations for their departure.

 


	10. Chapter 10

The city of ShiKahr was unlike any other city Kirk had visited, as Vulcan was unlike any other planet. As they stepped from the transport, he was struck by the intricate and detailed architecture of the simple space of the port. It wasn't composed of ornate, gilded, plasti-steel or tritium based alloys. It seemed to be made of the planets' sand, colorful layers and strata directed in a soothing and relaxing arrangement that drew the eye.

There was none of the noisy hustle that could be found anywhere in a public space on Earth. That was probably owing to the fact that the only inhabitants of ShiKahr were Vulcans; other species were housed in compounds outside the city walls. While Vulcan would argue that they weren't a prejudicial species, they were very conscious of their superiority over lesser folk – the idyllic "Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combination" concept that Surak preached being an ideal to be striven for, rather than a concrete reality in everyday life.

Jim was aware that Vulcans as a whole were as harsh as their environment. There was little malleability within the culture; they followed the principles that Surak taught them because they must. Their biological drives were too strong to be treated as less than lethal, and without the precepts, no one in the 'Fleet held much hope for the rest of the universe. Vulcans were instinctive warriors as evidenced by the derivative Romulan species, and their intelligence only made them that much more dangerous. They had managed to tame their volcanic emotions, but only just.

Vulcan itself, for the Federation, was like holding an outwardly calm Zenarian urtiger by the tail. You never quite knew when it was going to get hungry and bite you in the face with its 200 serrated teeth. They followed their own wisdom, their own worldview, and it was never a good idea to debate that view without significant artillery at the ready.

Neverthless, here they were. Again. Jim wondered who would try to kill him this time. In his last note to McCoy, he didn't mention their incipient trip, for fear the doctor would leave the Moon and light a trail through the cosmos to get here.

Spock glanced at his handheld computer pad before directing Jim to an exit. "My parents are not yet on Vulcan. They anticipate returning within 3.7 days and expect us to reside at their dwelling."

"That okay with you?" Jim asked.

Spock paused, obviously thinking his answer through before he spoke. "Yes."

He said nothing more and Jim nodded in response. He had no issue with where they stayed as long as Spock was comfortable. For his part, he was in no hurry to get inspected by Sarek once again. For some reason Kirk didn't care to delve into too closely, he felt lacking under his obsidian stare, as though he'd committed some crime he wasn't yet aware of.

Kirk was conscious that they were being watched. It wasn't covert by any means. The Vulcans heading towards or from their transports were examining both Spock and himself with gimlet glances, and Kirk couldn't decipher the expression on their serene faces. Jim had his best command walk going, and he knew he presented a cool, calm aspect as they made their way to the port immigration desk. He hoped he wasn't dressed oddly; that was something he didn't usually need to be concerned about in uniform. He was in a light pair of linen pants and shirt at Spock's insistence. The pants were an oatmeal color and the shirt a forest green that the Vulcan particularly appreciated on him.

Jim gave an unruffled smile to the somewhat burly immigration officer at the kiosk and handed over his Federation bio-chip. It was implanted with all the pertinent information required for interplanetary travel within the UFP and made non-Fleet travel much simpler.

"Admiral Kirk," the office acknowledged with a slight dip of his perfectly coiffed head. "Welcome to Vulcan. May I direct you to your accommodation?" His tone was one of infinite patience with the dimwitted.

"That won't be necessary," Jim replied, able to ignore the subtle condescension from long practice with his own Vulcan.

Dark eyes looked him over, apparently unimpressed. "It is required that aliens indicate their residence before entering Vulcan territories, as well as submit to a body scan."

Spock moved closer. Jim barely moved, but the silent communication that had been in place long before any bond stopped him in his tracks. Kirk could still feel his irritation like a laser on the back of his neck. _He's just doing his job, Spock._ "I will be staying at the residence of my bond-mates' parents, Ambassador Sarek and the Lady Amanda."

The guard nodded without further comment, input the information on his screen, returned Kirk's biochip, and proceeded to scan him. Assessment completed, he was waved on his way.

Spock, however, did not need to identify himself. The guard gave an impressive bow to him and raised his left hand in the Vulcan salute. "Live long and prosper, Spock. You are most welcome to return to the lands of our ancestors."

Spock returned the salute and gripping Jim's arm, led him away.

"Guess the ears are a dead giveaway, huh?" Jim asked, surprised that their immigration protocols weren't more stringent.

Spock directed him to a waiting aircar standing quietly by the exit to the terminal, and dropped their luggage into it. The heat hit Jim like a wave the moment the doors opened and Kirk was reminded that this was the hottest time of the year on Vulcan. The daytime temperature could easily reach over 150 degrees Fahrenheit and just the thought made him sweat. He was glad to get into the comparative coolness of the aircar.

No one had bumped into them, and there had been no jam-packed struggle to get into or out of the concourse. It was all so unnervingly polite and well-mannered it didn't even feel like a space port.

"All Vulcans are fitted with a permanent occipital biochip. Signals from the chip to the computer network are automatic and give authorities all information on that citizen."

"So a Romulan couldn't slip through?"

"Given their skin tone, it is unlikely. Also, those without biochips are easily detected."

"Will I have a problem moving around ShiKahr without one?"

Spock immediately took the vehicle from a waiting park position to drive. He input a code into the navcomp and the car instantly entered the traffic stream without any addition maneuvering. "You now hold dual citizenship, Jim, being of Earth and Vulcan as is my mother. She refused to give up her Earth citizenship, and I doubt that you will wish to either. As a citizen you will be implanted with a biochip if you wish it."

"I don't."

Spock sent him a dry glance. "As I thought. Most humans do not care for the concept. It was once considered as a possible immigration tool for Earth and Rigel. As expected, neither population desired it."

"Why I wonder, do I get the feeling that your people don’t use them solely to control immigration."

The Vulcan's lips tightened, the only indication of his distaste. "It is true that the biochips have a far greater use as a verification method to determine those males who are entering . . . their time."

"And once verified?"

"The affected male is given notice to seclude themselves with their mate directly."

"And if they aren’t mated?"

"They are escorted to their dwelling where their relatives will be responsible for controlling them, or to a facility that will ease the release of their _katra_."

Jim stared at him, thunderstruck. "If I understand you correctly, Spock, that means what? They're drugged to death?"

The Vulcan shifted in his seat. "I know you find this a distasteful concept; my mother does as well." He hesitated and then continued, "Humans are not controlled by their physiology to the extent we are. You must understand, Jim, how truly dangerous unmated males are. The madness . . . is uncontainable. They are either completed by physical interface with their mate, or the Vulcan becomes unruly, disobedient . . . utterly unmanageable. They kill indiscriminately, brutally rape without thought any male or female within reach, and worst of all, they are completely bereft of control yet aware of what they are doing at the time."

He left that repulsive thought in the air, and then murmured, "Too many such atrocities were committed before the advent of the biochip implant. Such behavior cannot go unchecked in any society."

Jim didn't want to imagine Spock like that, though he had seen and felt the evidence of his violence at his first _pon farr_. If not for the fact that Amanda had survived Sarek's attentions over the years of their bonding, he would truly be concerned for his chances of outliving Spock's.

Kirk returned his concentration to the city, quietly changing the subject. The situation was not one he could change. It was the first time he hadn't just beamed down to the location they needed on Vulcan, and he took the time to really look at it as they sped past. The traffic moved remarkably quickly, in such an orderly fashion it took him by surprise. And the buildings they passed were aesthetically exquisite, fitting the landscape. Their architectural designs alone were incredible.

Spock began a lecture on ShiKahr, while Jim looked and listened. One building seemed to be balanced on a miniscule ball, while another tapered in a sharp angle to its point. There were round buildings, square buildings, rectangles, octagons . . . all in that light, clean sandstone. The streets were long and narrow, walkways in perfectly straight lines, as were all the blocks. Public transport was by far the most popular mode of travel, Jim saw, and many also strode the walkways, which were wide enough for two or three abreast. The pace was quick, and the city gave off its intensity.

"It's beautiful," Jim said, unable to tear his eyes away from the variety of trees and plants that been artfully placed alongside the walkways. And every six blocks or so was a park, an open space, each one different, each one fascinatingly beautiful. He wanted to go walking there to determine every fascinating mystery they contained, so the landscaper had done his job well. At the center of ShiKahr stood its government buildings, their clean lines towering over all the others. In concentric circles outside of that lay the science and technology buildings, followed by health and welfare, then the business districts. Beyond that sat the homes of its residents, and if the architecture of the official buildings were impressive, these were even moreso.

From Spock's soft-voiced instruction he learned that it wasn't the size of the houses that indicated their inhabitant's importance or prosperity, but the age of it. "My father's dwelling is 2,474 years old. The first son's family has lived there since it was built."

Jim goggled at him. "Shouldn't the sandstone would have worn away by now?"

"Each year another external layer is added to protect that beneath from erosion by the seasonal sandstorms. Some use shields to protect their property, but that is a technology my father finds distasteful. He prefers the old way."

 _Of course he does,_ Kirk thought to himself.

_He is in many respects, an old-fashioned male, even though his was the first interspecies bonding._

  _In how long?_

Spock sent him a sidelong glance. "Since Vulcan has kept recorded history."

Jim sat quietly and digested that. "And he wasn't shunned?"

"The family is too important in political circles for that to occur, but I believe he lost the respect of a number of his colleagues due to his decision. He, of course, will not discuss it other than to repeat that my mother was the logical choice."

"That takes . . .," Jim tried to find the appropriate word.

"'Balls that drag on the ground,' is what McCoy would say, though I do not understand the reference. Why would the size of a male's testicles—"

Jim was too busy laughing to comment and they continued the tour, making their way to Sarek and Amanda's home. He was curious to see where Spock had grown up and had a quick thought for his mate. _Will it be difficult staying here?_

_Difficult? I do not understand._

_To be reminded everywhere of unpleasant memories, Spock. That's what I meant._

_This is my home. I will be satisfied to return to it. The memories of the past are just that – memories. You and I will make new ones now and they will be the ones I will cherish._

Jim swallowed and placed his hand over Spock's, moved beyond words by such a simple declaration. "You know, for the first couple of days I was trying to figure out why this leave on Earth felt so different than any other. And then I realized the answer." He grasped Spock's hand and brought it to his lips, planting a light kiss on hard knuckles. "It was because you were there," he admitted softly. "It's all better when you're with me."

Spock's mint hue deepened. "As with thee, _th'y'la_."

Distracted by the still-undefined word, Jim asked, "Are you ever going to tell me what that means?"

The aircar turned into a long, secluded drive, bordered by native trees that shaded it from the intense sunlight. The house completely diverted him from whatever Spock was going to say. Kirk had previously placed blue-red filters in his eyes, or else everything here would have a dark-blue tint, owing to the color spectrum from Vulcan's two suns. He was glad he would be able to se the planet as Spock saw, or as near to as he possibly could.

The house was built of deep red sandstone, turned to dark violet by the suns' rays. There were no angles to it, only rounded edges and intersecting walls, which gave it a complex appearance at first glance. Spock input another set of codes into the navcomp, and they alighted from the vehicle. Spock gathered their bags, and the aircar slid away.

"Why don't I feel the heat?" Jim asked curiously, shading his eyes as he looked up.

"The bola trees have the ability to reflect the suns' rays. They enable the property to remain at a lower ambient temperature, and maintain the house relatively cooler."

"I like the architecture. Whoever designed it didn't believe in corners, apparently."

"No. All the rooms have a slight curve to them. It is considered aesthetically pleasant."

The house was comfortable, but only just. It seemed to be at a middle position for both Vulcan and Human physiologies. Jim hoped it would become cooler at night or it was going to be difficult to sleep, especially with Spock next to him doing his imitation of a furnace. Jim ordinarily didn't mind the heat his lover exuded, but he didn't want to think of attempting to sleep while sweating rivers the night through.

 _Though if I leak fluids through the bedding for an entirely different reason that would be just fine_ , he thought with a glance at Spock.

Spock twitched, but said nothing, ignoring a lovely, wide living room on their right, a food preparation area on their left, and continuing down a long corridor to a central tiled area with another door that led out of the house to the right, and a spiral staircase that led upwards. The staircase made of a golden-veined white marble that was very beautiful, while the flooring was a wide rectangular ochre tile. The walls were the pale sandstone that Kirk had seen throughout the buildings in ShiKahr.

"I'm a man in the prime of my life, Spock. These are my best years," Jim teased as they climbed to the second story and down another corridor.

"I was under the impression human males peaked at eighteen years of age," the Vulcan shot back.

"That's a fallacy," Jim huffed. "As lovers, human men only get better as they age."

"Then we are in no great hurry after all."

Jim resisted the urge to swat the Vulcan with the nearest ancient bust of some long-dead Vulcan ancestor. They were scattered here and there on plinths of some gnarled golden wood; their eyes seemed to move in their stone faces, watching them as they walked past.

"I, too, believed they were gazing at me in approbation when I was a child and had done some deed that displeased my father."

Jim smiled. "I can't imagine that happened very often."

"On the contrary; it occurred all too often. I was quite inquisitive and intransient as a child."

"Some things don't change," Jim quipped, and then was silenced when he entered Spock's room. Unlike his own childhood room, Spock's seemed to be locked in stasis, a time capsule of his lover just prior to his leaving Vulcan for the Academy so many years ago. Kirk looked at Spock, attempting to gauge his reaction, and wasn't surprised to read astonishment on the carved features.

He moved about the room, idly touching a piece of childish sculpture here, moving a favored holograph of something that looked like a cross between a bear and a sabretooth tiger there, and then looking out of the tall windows for a long while, regaining control of the emotions Jim could feel swirling beneath the calm façade. Surprise, regret, and affection were only a few, but they were the strongest by far. Jim moved up behind him, and placed a hand on his back. "I don't think your mother was quite willing to let Sarek boot you out as completely as he may have wanted."

"Apparently not. She is a remarkably stubborn woman."

"She'd have to be, wouldn't she? Sarek's a strong character to deal with on a daily basis and maintain your humanity."

Spock turned his head and raised that elegant eyebrow. "You seem to have no difficulty."

"I have a slight advantage, Spock," Jim told him wryly. "I've been your commanding officer for the past five years and you're used to me in that role. Our balance of power was set long before we started a relationship."

Spock nodded in agreement. "My father . . . cannot dominate my mother. I believe it is part of why he chose her."

"He tried to dictate to you, though."

"The dynamic between father and son is utterly different from that between bond-mates. And being half-human was not of great benefit as I grew on a world that disdained half-breeds. I had to be the best in whatever I chose, just to be tolerated."

Kirk shook his head. "That's a lot of pressure to place on a child."

"Indeed. Yet I find his draconian methods were advantageous to me as an adult. I have surpassed the achievements of most of my acquaintances."

There was just a hint of pride there, but Jim just smiled. "T'Pring had said you'd become something of a legend here."

Spock began to move around the room, sweeping ancient and childish treasures into drawers, except for the weretiger holo. He handed it to Jim. "My 'teddy bear,'" he said, with gentle affection. "Sehlats are quite dangerous unless tamed at a young age. I-Chaya was my constant companion, accomplice, and confidante."

Jim chuckled. "And you were worried about timberwolves."

"I-Chaya would only kill to protect me from harm. Vulcan is still a dangerous world, though the city has grown up around many of my favorite recreational locations."

The bed was a double, raised on a platform, containing a thin mattress and a very heavy blanket. The pillows were flatter than Spock's waistline. Having slept on regulation bunks for most of his adult life, Jim had learned to sleep anywhere, in whatever position available, but he could have wished for a softer mattress. He fell back onto the bed with a sigh and took in the room his friend had grown up in.

Next to the bed rested a long desk in an aquamarine hue but the same stone material which followed the contours of the curved wall into a completed horseshoe shape. In the bend of the horseshoe, two consoles were embedded, with touch pads of varying sizes, types and complexities surrounding them. A high-backed computer chair sat there, waiting for its owner to use it again. Jim could easily see a young Spock there, intently focusing on his work to the exclusion of all else.

The blanket beneath him was very soft, in the same watery blue-green tint. Rising, he stepped within the facilities. Spotlessly clean, it mirrored the coral and aquamarine hues, giving color and depth to what would otherwise only be a utilitarian space. A recessed closet and dresser could be found by opening the next door.

Spock was already turning to the computer consoles, so Jim unpacked his clothes. It didn't take long, and since Spock appeared to be engrossed in whatever he was reading, Jim decided to give himself the tour.

Spock's room was at one end of the rounded 'T' shape of the house. Four other rooms took up the space between his bedroom and that of his parents, two appearing to be guest rooms, while another was obviously Amanda's private space. As Spock had mentioned, vibrant colors flowered here on the walls, ranging from purple to fuschia to fold and emerald green. Every available space was covered with holos or static photos, and a few overstuffed chairs were strewn about in an unstudied and inviting manner.

What he presumed to be Sarek and Amanda's bedroom door was locked. With no interest in intruding on it, he turned away and walked down the stairs to the ground floor. Towards the narrow end of the 'T' were the public rooms that they had entered the house by. To the right of the staircase was a doorway that barely stuck out from the walls around it. Jim ventured there, intrigued by the subterfuge.

A room composed entirely of consoles, data drives, and Net access equipment was neatly organized to take up the least amount of space. Kirk counted the number of data drives, and theorized the computer power within this room alone would rival that of _Enterprise_. What Sarek needed such capability for in his home, Kirk deliberately did not ask himself, but the question remained. One console had only the system's security readout. He was no computer genius by any measure, but he did have significant experience with security systems; by analyzing this console's readouts, Jim determined that whatever Sarek did here, he had no intention of anyone hacking into the secrets he kept here.

When his finger started to itch to learn more, his conscience insisted he leave. Nothing good could be gained by spying on his father-in-law, however innocently it may have begun. He also had his doubts as to whether he would be able to get into any viable systems within a feasible timeframe. Sarek was one of the most brilliant computer programmers in the UFP, so it was doubtful that Jim's meager ability would be effective.

The kitchen was his next stop. Along the countertops of dark-veined stone could be found every possible kitchen gadget to be produced within the last fifteen years. Obviously, the kitchen was Amanda's domain. The spice rack alone was colossal, containing the most mundane Earth spices along with many others from planets flung far and wide across the galaxy. Some he couldn't possibly read even in its Standard translation, nevermind pronounce the native tongue. On the label of each was the name, planet of origin, and what species it could be toxic to. Jim nodded in wry understanding; in order for Amanda to serve meals to her husband's political associates, she needed to know everything about their food requirements and tolerances, including what a small pinch of spice could do to a guest.

At the bottom of the container was lettering that appeared to be an eye-catching blend of ancient Cyrillic, hieroglyphic art, and Persian script. At first, it seemed to be nothing more than a jumble of artistic symbology, before he realized it was actually the Vulcan language. Its pattern was mesmerizingly beautiful, and Kirk found himself attempting to puzzle out the simple letters for 'basil' (basil) until his eyes hurt. Smiling at himself, he straightened from his hunched position. Languages had never been his talent, but he found them mysterious and intriguing puzzles to be deciphered nonetheless.

Next to that rested a small console containing what he presumed to be recipes.

Attached to the kitchen were two large glass doors, ringing externally in a type of mist. Curious, Jim moved towards them and the doors opened. The cool water spray bathed his face and head, and he walked further inside to find an Earth-type garden. Bemused by this obvious sign of doting affection from Sarek towards his Terran wife, Jim stepped deeper within, finding a vegetable garden on the right on the stone path, and a flower garden to the left, complete with climbing roses, tulips, and daffodils, alongside more fragrant bushes and flowering trees. After a moment, though, he realized that all of the colors were wrong. The roses were blue and the daffodils were orange. Looking upwards, he saw that the greenhouse contained yellow light emitters, which made it possible for the plants to process the oxygen-rich air in the otherwise toxic light and searing heat of the two suns of Vulcan. Running a hand across the damp panes of the greenhouse, Jim noticed that they were completely opaque to outside light.

Finding this to be the most comfortable and welcoming area of the residence outside of Amanda's private space, Jim wiped down a stone bench and settled himself there. He knew there were dozens of things he should have been doing, including checking his mail, messages, and the avalanche of other issues involved in his promotion. But for the moment, he was content to stay here and enjoy the tangible proof of one Vulcan's love for his Terran mate.

 

 

One of the first appointments Spock made once he had returned to Vulcan was with the healer, Seyjan. If anyone could understand the inherent difficulties and unexpected joys inherent in a Terran-Vulcan bonding, it was he. Spock admitted to himself that the intensity of their sexual union alarmed him. He was concerned that he would not acclimate himself to their innate sensuality of his mate, and therefore, their bond would not hold.

And he was far more worried that he would, and therein lay the problem.

Everything Kirk was thrust the thought of an emotionally calm and tranquil relationship out the port nacelle. His emotions were vibrant, volcanic, and as much a part of his affection for Spock as the Vulcan himself. In truth, his Vulcan side had little idea of how to emotionally relate to Kirk, but physically, it desired him so much, so deeply, so hungrily, the depth and power of that desire unnerved the usually reserved Spock.

Yet Seyjan had not given him the answers he so desperately sought. Instead, he asked him yet one more question.

"What is it you fear, Spock?"

A question that even the masters of Kolinahr had wrestled with for years left him speechless. Thankfully, the old master had not expected an answer to come immediately or easily. But he did expect Spock to find the truth in it. Not the conventional truth that came unbidden to every Vulcan's lips: "I fear nothing." But the core truth, the honest, genuine response, that would probably, ultimately, be completely un-Vulcan and therefore unacceptable . . . if he insisted on those parameters for what fundamentally did not fit easily into either of their racial molds.

When he returned to the residence that evening, deep in thought, and desiring of meditation, Jim had finally yielded to necessity. The Admiral was currently wading through five weeks of mail, invitations, verbal messages, holographic congratulations and 'post-cards' and Spock could only imagine what else. Apparently, Kirk's actual 'leave,' as far as he was concerned, only lasted for as long as he was in Iowa. While he would not take up his new job responsibilities until his return to Earth and Star Fleet Command, there was a great deal of work to be done before that could actually occur.

Using one of the guest rooms as an office, Jim was frowning at the console and snarling something intelligible. By the insignia Spock could see on the screen, Jim was dealing with the Quartermaster General's office, which in of itself was sufficient to make anyone scowl. As he entered the room, Jim turned to face him, a smile breaking through his handsome features. Spock was struck by just how deeply he loved this man: as a friend, as a lover, as a mate – he was all those things and more. His fingers caressed a smooth cheek, and Jim's smile widened. There was much between them that needed to be said, and yet, at the moment he could think of none in particular.

The senior quartermaster's return to the screen broke them apart like guilty children. Ken Theas always appeared exhausted, the folds under his hazel eyes adding years to his appearance. Scrawny tufts of hair, already grey, only added to the impression, but his voice was cheerful and light. "Sorry, Jim, accommodations are kind of tight right now. You'll be in the same apartment you were in before until I can find something a little larger." He tapped a few keys in front of his computer screen. "The guy you're replacing, Kennerson, isn't vacating his apartment until a year after he retires, so that one's out. And others are already spoken for. I really wish I could do something for you." The craggy face crumbled in on itself in a smile. "I want to crack open that crate of Saurian brandy you sent."

Jim laughed. "It's all right, Kenny. Thanks for trying. Break one open and have a drink for me."

"Maybe I'll get to see you, in the flesh, one of these days?"

"I'll make a point of it. Thanks, Ken." He signed off. "I remember the days when a crate of Saurian brandy could get you a week at the most expensive hotel on Earth. Now, I can't even bump up my 'Fleet quarters."

"You did not like the suite?"

Kirk spun back around and stood up, stretching. "It was good enough. I liked the view. Still, I needed to check in with Kenny and make sure _Enterprise'_ s refit is on his books, and what the plan was for the refit."

Spock shook his head. "I had already done so and sent the planned schedule to your attention."

"You didn't need to do that, but I appreciate it. By the way, you never told me what your new duty schedule is going to be. You were so taken aback by being promoted, I never did ask."

"I will be teaching at the Academy."

" _Teaching_?"

"You doubt my ability to convey tertiary matrices to youngsters?" Spock asked with a subtle smile.

"Not at all. You're an excellent teacher. I have my doubts whether the average Academy kid will appreciate you, though."

"It is of no matter. My teaching schedule will also give me sufficient time to follow the refit as well as continue my own studies and research."

"I'm glad of that." His stomach began to grumble and Spock led the way down to the kitchen. They prepared a light meal and sat down to eat it, talking all the while of what new technology Starfleet would put into _Enterprise_.

"Shall we walk?" Spock asked afterwards. "We will need to wear jackets, as the desert evening is cool."

Jim nodded, retrieved a sweater and Spock's coat, before heading out the door with Spock by his side.

"You found my mother's garden."

"It's beautiful."

"It is heavily water consumptive, but the vitamins and minerals she receives from the vegetables are important for her nutrition, and the yellow light emitters aide her in forming sufficient vitamin D and calcium for her skin and bone structure."

"All of which she could receive in tablets and a light lamp. So the garden is logical, when you look at it in a loving kind of way."

"Indeed."

Jim chuckled. "Well, then, that's okay. Sarek's image is safe."

"I have never noticed my father to be at all concerned about his image, though his reputation does occasionally have some import to him."

Spock let the conversation fall there, enjoying the star field above them and the smell of the desert air. There were few if any blooms at this time of the year, Vulcan's spring not lasting for very long and summer killing everything but the most hardy of the ecology's greenery.

On the way back to the house, Jim softly asked, "You went to see Seyjan?"

"I did."

"What did he have to say?"

"He asked me a question that I have yet to find an answer to. Perhaps after I meditate this evening, a resolution will come to me."

"Does it have to do with sex?"

"Only in an indirect manner."

Jim scuffed his boot toe against a loose stone in the path and said nothing. The emotional tone of their walk became stilted, tight, and Spock was at a loss to understand it.

_Th'y'la?_

_I'm here, Spock. You can talk to me._

_Sometimes . . . it is simpler to merge thoughts with you. The words seem less challenging to find._

_Okay._

_My reticence has upset you._

_Not upset, exactly. I don't know what I was expecting from you . . . us. Maybe that once we began, physically, it would be easier to continue. Instead, I can feel you pulling away and I don't like it._

_It is more myself I am struggling with, bond-mate. I never intended for you to feel distant from me._

Jim sighed, and Spock knew then he had not communicated as fully as he should. _Seyjan asked me of my fears._

Kirk stopped and moved close enough to look into Spock's eyes. "Did he? Interesting. I know what I'm afraid of, Spock. I don't think you can't really know yourself until you do. I'm surprised that Vulcans aren't more aware of theirs."

_We are, in most things, quite realistic of our fears. We find them, probe the viability of their occurrence, analyze the worst of what could occur, and then, discard them._

_But you have to be aware you have them first, right?_

_We do. I am uncertain of my fears with regard to you._

Kirk hesitated and then asked: _Do you think I don't care about you?_

_I am quite aware of how much you care for me, Jim._

_That I don't want you?_

_No. Your pleasure in my touch cannot be feigned._

Kirk bit his lip. _Then perhaps it's me you don't want?_

I fear I want you more than is sane, is safe. I desire you, to touch you, own you, be with you in all ways, for all time.

Jim laughed. "Sorry. I didn’t get that, but it sounded like you meant it."

Spock grasped his mate's elbow to turn him around, fingers stroking Kirk's temple. _I could not want you more._

_Good. Then it has to be because of that episode with Lori. You're not sure I can control myself._

_Th'y'la, please. You were never at fault. In truth, it is myself I fear._

Jim shifted under his hand, hazel gaze dark and piercing. _You won't hurt me, Spock. I know that._ There was such intensity in his mental voice that the Vulcan could feel himself tighten in response. _I trust you with my life, my body, my future. I don't fear anything now. Only losing you._

Spock's movement startled them both, but his kiss was deep, fierce and satisfying. He released only a portion of his hunger before Jim was moaning and clinging to him, silently demanding more. It was a good thing they were close to the house, Spock realized dimly through the heat that flared inside his marrow. Their neighbors would take a dim view of their coupling in the gardens under T'Khult's full light.

It was also a good thing that he had confirmed his parent's arrival time, as he and Jim landed on the soft cushions of one of the lounge chairs in the public room. They struggled out of their boots, clothes being kicked off in a mad rush to reach flesh. Kirk landed atop of him, his shirt half-on, along with one sock and a leg still locked in his pants. The fabric of the cushions resisted, but Spock managed to get Jim beneath him, pinning him with his weight while he took his mouth, demanding, forcing the fire of Jim's response.

 _What do you fear?_ He could hear the healer's question teasing him, demanding his answer, but he denied it, instead focusing on the ragged rise of Jim's chest, the rose-brown nipple in his mouth, the way it peaked against his tongue. There was no logic here in this wasteland of heat and need. There was no wintry aloofness, remote detachment, or mental security held within the unfeeling, unknowing tundra of his own mind. Jim's desire beat there, like his pulse, wild, discordant, begging and demanding in the same breath.

_What do you fear?_

Jim's briefs were wet and Spock pressed down against the bulge there with his cheek. The scent was warm, giving off scents of the woods of Earth, and something intrinsically Jim that made his mouth water. The black, silky fabric was torn off in less time that it took to think it, and Jim let out a cry that was both ravenous and apprehensive. Spock ignored the dichotomy, unable to think with Jim under his hands, in his nose, on his lips. His hard organ bumped gently against his lips, wet with pre-ejaculate. Spock settled begin Jim's legs, ignoring his own discomfort.

Any semblance of rational thought was gone, burned to ashes by want. Jim was impressively built and Spock admired the long, lean length of him, gently petting with one hand, while the other held his hip. His tongue had a mind of its own, it seemed, and hungered for the taste of the rosy shaft, stroking upwards in an arc that had Jim thrusting his hips in response. Jim's fingers were clenched into the cushions with enough force to leave marks in the fabric.

He had little experience in loving another man, but he did know what he wanted, and that was Jim in his mouth, immediately. Laving the head with the end of his tongue, he dug his fingers under Jim's cheeks with both hands, to grasp him by the plush mounds and hold him still. Kirk was making soft, desperate sounds, but nothing intelligible escaped him. Pleased to have brought his bond-mate to such a strait, Spock began to swallow the hot, turgid organ, ever so slowly going lower and lower, adjusting to the bulk in his throat and mouth as he did, lightly scraping his teeth along the sensitive length.

When he was finally comfortable with the position, Spock began to move more quickly, his head bobbing, lips and mouth tight around the now-straining penis. Jim's sounds were even more incomprehensible now, only the occasionally breathy exhalation of his name making its way past his lips. His skin was damp with perspiration, thigh muscles alternately tensing and relaxing against the need to thrust. Able to feel the tension within his body, Spock removed one hand from where it had been squeezing Jim's cheek, and bound it tightly around his penis. His hand pumped him hard, fast and with a strength that could have hurt, but Jim was far past the point of caring.

The soft, sibilant moan was the only verbal indication that his climax was upon him before Spock was swallowing his essence in a desperate bid to prevent asphyxia. When it was done, Jim collapsed against the cushions, flushed and exhausted, but with an aura of supreme satisfaction staining the air around him. Spock, trembling and shocked by his own behavior in the heat of the moment, sat back onto his heels, and then began to pull on his clothes.

Jim lay quietly, watching him, his eyes a brilliant green. "What are you doing?"

Gently, Spock lifted him off of the couch, and carried him upstairs without answering. Then he turned and went back, to make certain that any evidence was erased, and all bits of clothing had been returned to their room, before he sat on the bed near his bond-mate.

Jim hadn't moved. He didn’t seem to feel the need to cover himself.

"What's going on in that overly brilliant head of yours?" he asked softly, one hand reaching for Spock but unable to reach him.

"I told you what I feared would happen. Did you think it an idle anxiety?"

"No. But I trusted you then as I trust you now. Is it this concern that you'll hurt me what prevents you from climaxing?"

"I do not know. What I am experiencing is wrenching enough; I do not know if I could stand what you feel, though I am aware of it through our bond."

"You're afraid of letting go with it, of losing every bit of yourself, of your logic, within me while we're together," Kirk said softly, dragging himself to a sitting position, and resting his head against Spock's shoulder. "It's what love is, Spock, that inability to resist, that need. We all feel it to a greater or lesser extent. It's nothing to be afraid of."

"For humans, perhaps. I am Vulcan. It is different for me."

"And when you touched me, just now, what did you feel?"

"Too much that I could not control."

Jim sighed. "Of all the problems I thought we'd have . . . would it be like this with a Vulcan woman?"

"Doubtful. We restrain our emotions; hers would not incite mine as yours do."

Jim obviously didn't know what to say to that. "What I experienced was blissful, Spock, not something to be considered shameful." He rose on trembling feet and made his way to the bathing room. "I need a shower," he mumbled and closed the door behind him, leaving Spock completely alone and aware that Kirk felt the need to bathe for some reason other than cleanliness.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Sarek and Amanda had returned to their home at sometime during the night. Jim put on a bright smile and met his hosts in the kitchen the next morning. Spock was gone, probably to the Vulcan Science Academy for lectures and meetings. He hadn't woken Jim before he had left, which left a sour feeling in the region of Kirk's stomach. Not having the time at the moment to worry further on the issues in his relationship, Jim straightened his shirt and walked into the kitchen area.

"Ambassador Sarek, Lady Amanda," Jim greeted.

"Kirk," Sarek nodded, and Amanda gave him a wan smile. She appeared weary, circles under her usually bright blue eyes. "Hello, Jim. Won't you sit down?"

He settled himself around the kitchen island, and accepted the glass of juice she offered.

"Spock took breakfast with us this morning and has already departed for meetings at the VSA."

Jim nodded and looked to Sarek. "Was your trip successful?"

"It went as well as these things do, though I am pleased to be on Vulcan once again. I am not young any longer and travel seems more wearing now than it once did."

"Oh, hogwash, Sarek," Amanda snapped. "I'm the one who's tired. You could run an Salraitian marathon, subdue the Klingon faction, and follow that with alligator wrestling and a Channel swim and still not be exhausted."

Jim smiled. Sarek merely raised a brow in amusement. "Indeed, my wife?"

She gave him a mock-disgusted glance. "Vulcans." She turned to Jim, and her smile slipped from her face. "Now what's this about your bonding with my Spock?"

"Amanda!" Sarek hissed softly. "It is not our affair, my wife."

"He's my son, which makes it my affair, husband!"

She turned back to Kirk, who sat entirely nonplussed. He had thought it would be Sarek who would give him a difficult time about the situation, not the previously understanding Amanda. Her voice was soft, but her gaze was definitely irritated. "You're a planet-hopping womanizer, Jim Kirk, and your reputation on that score is so . . . well, sufficient, that I'm fairly sure you seduced my son."

The Vulcan's jaw dropped open. "AMANDA!" he thundered. "Enough!"

She went silent at his voluble annoyance with her, but Jim knew if he were to have any chance at all of being accepted into Spock's family, it would have to start now. So he took a deep breath and told them how it had happened: about the Di'Shan, the bonding, and their subsequent attempt to break the link between them.

Spock's parents went pale at the concept of breaking a bond and Amanda moved closer to Sarek.

"We started to realize about then . . . when it wouldn't snap, no matter how much pressure was brought to bear . . .  that this was something we both wanted . . . but hadn't had the courage to explore previously."

Amanda leaned against her husband now, tears in her eyes, listening without saying a word.

"As for me, I can't imagine my life without him anymore," Jim murmured, idly playing with the empty juice glass. "I haven't been able to for some time," he admitted softly.

"And your mother?" Sarek asked, gently soothing Amanda with one hand on the nape of her neck.

Jim gave a short smile when he remembered his mother's reaction. "She wasn't surprised. I'd been talking about Spock since the day I met him. Mom figured it out before I did."

Amanda left her husband's side and came to Jim. "I believe you care about him. I just don't know if you can make Spock happy. He doesn't seem very happy to me."

Jim didn't know what to say to that. He knew why Spock was disconcerted with himself, but it wasn't a subject he was going to discuss with his parents.

"You must also be aware, Kirk, that a Vulcan-Terran bond is not valued in some areas of Vulcan. There are those who do not believe humanity is sufficiently evolved to be mated with my people."

Amanda gave an irritated sniff. She obviously did not care for this kind of bigotry any more than her husband. "It's a subtle type of prejudice you would think they'd grow out of by now."

"In time, my wife, in time. Amanda worries that Spock's half-Vulcan status, and now, his Terran bond-mate, will cause him difficulties with his people."

"He never mentioned this possibly being an issue," Kirk said with a sigh.

"It is most likely because he has never been concerned with Vulcan's perception of him. He has made his place in Star Fleet, and it is there he believes he fits best," Sarek acknowledged. "He understood, as I did not at the time, that he would never be completely accepted here and so he had to make his way elsewhere."

It was a humbling admission for Sarek, but his voice did not waiver.

"Spock is very perceptive, Sarek," Jim insisted. "And stubborn. He won't yield to intolerance from anyone, and doesn't give a tinker's damn about his reputation, except where it impinges upon his science." Trying to interject a lighter note to the conversation, Kirk asked, "He told you he's been promoted?"

"Yes. And may I extend my congratulations, Admiral? I believe you are the youngest human to attain the rank."

Jim sobered. "I remember when that would have been the most important thing in the world to me, being the youngest Admiral in 'Fleet. Now, it just means responsibility for more lives that I'll have to send into harm's way."

"Were I a soldier, it is with that thought I would have another command me," Sarek told him, dark eyes serious and attentive. It was a compliment and Kirk took it as such.

"I only want my son to be content, Jim. As his mother, that is all I care about. You are a good man: handsome, intelligent, and charming, but there must be more to you than that for my son to care for you as he does. I just hope he hasn't made a mistake." Amanda made her way out of the room, leaving Jim with a sinking heart. Nothing he had said had made any difference to her opinion of him.

As a bond-mate, he was striking out. Spock was miserable; Amanda was certain he would cheat; and Sarek?

"My mother considered having me sent to the healers at the time I Chose Amanda, Kirk. Do not allow anyone else's opinion matter to you. Spock has Chosen; that is sufficient for me to accept you into the clan."

But Jim knew that wasn't the whole of it. "Spock will be approaching his time soon. You knew that he had no other option on Vulcan, didn’t you?"

"There was one female, but she . . . demanded much for Spock's hand. My son would have refused her on the principle, if not for active dislike." Sarek's tone radiated disgust; whoever this woman was, she hadn't worried about making the family like her. "And you mistake me, Kirk," Sarek told him. "I am aware, moreso than my wife, of all you have accomplished in your career. While the general penchant for violence among your race is disturbing, you have done what you could to prevent unnecessary aggression, cruelty, and bloodshed. Your solutions have been inventive, occasionally ingenious, and committed to peaceful reconciliation. In short, you are an admirable man."

Kirk looked at the Vulcan for a long moment. "You've read my reports."

"In great detail."

Jim sat there and stared, shocked. "I probably don't want to know how you got your hands on them, considering their highly classified nature," he muttered.

"You do not."

Kirk looked into the dark eyes, a knot of tension arising in his gut. "You've put me in a predicament, Sarek. My oath insists that I mention your clandestine access to confidential documents to my superiors. Yet, you're a member of my family now and Amanda wouldn't appreciate your being imprisoned for spying."

"Admiral Nogura is aware of my activities, though not my methods. I do not disclose any of the information; it is for my own knowledge, no one else's."

That admission clarified Sarek's actions, and Jim suddenly understood his reasons for committing what amounted to espionage. "You were keeping an eye on Spock."

Sarek said nothing, but then, he didn’t need to. The gleam in the eagle-fierce eyes spoke volumes. "I would protect my son with my life. And with yours, if need be."

Jim smiled. He had to admit, he respected Sarek's tenacity. Even though they had not spoken for all those years, Sarek would not desert his son.

"Also, I am an ambassador; neither the UFP nor Star Fleet can arrest me. They can only ask me to retire."

"You'd make quite a spy, Sarek."

"Thank you, Kirk. I will accept that as the compliment I am certain you meant it to be." Sarek departed then, leaving Jim to ponder the complexities of family life.

By that evening, Spock was in a better frame of mind. He had completed two lectures, one on "Classifying Spaces of Degenerating Mixed Hodge Structures, I: Borel–Serre Spaces," and the other, "The Bender–Wu Analysis and the Voros Theory," both involving pure mathematics and algebraic fusions. They had been well received, and he had been caught up in the research of others for the rest of the day.

Spock had previously accepted an invitation from a colleague in physics who had invited him and his bond-mate to their residence for that evening. T'Rel, an astrophysicist and his mate, the sculptor S'Rahne, were having a gathering of friends from the VSA to discuss a recent paper that T'Rel had completed regarding the current status of axions as dark matter. While Spock didn't expect Kirk to be as fascinated by the subject as he was, Jim had cheerfully agreed to go some days ago.

The public areas of T'Rel's residence were broken into two open spaces, comfortably furnished and lit. Food was maintained in a banquet area near the dining space, and servitors were gracefully carrying plates to and from the banquette tables. There were far more people than Spock had expected attending, most from the VSA, but some he had no previous acquaintance with.

Kirk's arrival caused a subtle murmuring to begin. Spock immediately went to his side, disdaining the Vulcan etiquette that required Jim to come to him. As always, Spock was struck by just how magnetic Kirk was, his handsomeness only added to by the gentle lighting of the space. He introduced Jim to T'Rel and S'Rhane, both young Vulcans who were as fascinated by humans as Jim was by Vulcans. They talked for a while, and then, T'Rel urged Spock to join the group huddled deeper within the space in a discussion of the axions.

Kirk nodded his agreement. _Go on. I can see you're itching to listen to them mumble about quarks and dragons._

Spock left him with an appreciative nod. S'Rhane also excused herself to tend to her guests, and Jim took the time to look around. A young man in a servitor's uniform brought him food and a drink. Amanda had taken the time this afternoon to explain a little of Vulcan societal etiquette and the role of the servitors. They were essentially professional waiters who had been taught in exhaustive detail the foods, seasonings, and beverages that were appetizing to the visitors that came to Vulcan, since only Vulcan foodstuffs were served in most residences in Shi'Kahr.

A few Vulcans were watching him with unreserved disdain, but he ignored them. No one would approach him while he was eating, another societal no-no, so when Jim finished his appetizer, he put it aside. Two young males immediately came up to him, and after introducing themselves, began to ask questions about Kirk's experiences at the Academy, and in a roundabout way, Spock. Apparently Spock was a legend among Vulcans for his decision to enter Star Fleet, and then for his scientific and professional achievements. The younger Vulcans seemed to appreciate his breaking from the mold of tradition and seeking his fortunes elsewhere. Jim could understand that. In a society so rigidly formulaic, anyone who strayed from the norm would either be considered insane or a leader. Spock had become something of an icon for the younger generation and some wished to follow in his footsteps. Kirk didn't hesitate to urge the males to apply to the Academy; diversity was as important there as on Vulcan.

Excusing himself to get another plate, Jim went to the banquette tables to view the spread. It was quite artistically laid out, and as many things on Vulcan, as much a work of art as a practical food arrangement.

"Admiral Kirk, I am T'Ranna, youngest sister of T'Rel."

The woman who had come up to him was beautiful in that very formal, very upright manner that only the most aristocratic Vulcans maintained. She reminded Kirk immediately of T'Pring, but those doe eyes had never held the kind of malice she had been capable of.

"I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, T'Ranna. Your home is lovely."

She nodded in reply. "You are the bond-mate of Spock, is that not so?"

"I have that honor," Jim agreed. He would have to remember to thank Amanda again for her tutorial; it certainly had come in handy. Many of Vulcan societal niceties have formulaic responses that she had drilled into him by rote. Without them, no person of any worth in the upper, educated echelons of Vulcan society would have anything to do with him.

She said nothing for a long moment, somewhat pensive, looking in the direction where Spock sat with the others. Spock was speaking quietly but with emphasis about some detail and Jim couldn't help but smile. Spock was so rarely able to meet with like minds.

"Then allow me to serve you," she urged kindly. "It is my pleasure and brings honor to my house."

Amanda's tutorial had included the ancient tradition of being served by the residents of the house. Jim bowed slightly and returned to his seat, aware all the while of the gaze of a group of young men watching him with unabashed dislike. He ignored them, and after a while, they moved on.

A few moments later a servitor brought him his plate. It looked delicious and smelled even better, and he unabashedly began to eat with an appetite. Another group of young Vulcans clustered on the periphery of his awareness, no doubt waiting until he was finished to begin another round of questions. Oh, well, anything for the Fleet.

The moment he set the plate aside, they were on him, pulling chairs up to his and shooting questions at him. With a smile, Kirk sat back and finished his drink before replying. "One at a time, please." He wiped his sweating palms on his pants and blew out a breath. Vulcans did like their heat.

He had just finished the first round of questions when he noticed his lips were tingling. He blinked away the sweat that was dripping into his eyes and reached to wipe it away, shocked when his hand trembled in mid-air and refused to complete its trajectory.

"Admiral Kirk? Are you well?"

He couldn't speak and an odd sense of paralysis had come over him. Overwhelmed by a wave of nausea and vertigo, he slid from his seat and fell to the floor.

 _Jim? What is wrong?_ Spock thought frantically at him.

_Damn, Bones . . . was right._

And then all light, all sound, all sensation deserted him and the dark overtook his awareness.

When Spock reached Jim's side, his lips were navy blue, and the color was creeping both up and down his features. He was unconscious, but his body was rigid.

T'Rel did not hesitate. "He needs a healer. I will take you in my aircar. S'Rhane, contact the Terran infirmary and advise them we are bringing Admiral Kirk to them."

Spock lifted Jim and in the periphery of his vision noticed the discarded plate. There were three green-furred grape-like fruits left on it. "Warn them he has falla berry toxicity," Spock snapped, enraged, his visage blotted for a moment with the ferocious need to kill whoever had harmed his mate.

T'Rel glanced at the plate and his shock was evident. "By the ancestors," he murmured. "To have such a thing happen in my home. . ."

"We don't have time for that now," Spock growled. "The aircar. Hurry."

The ensuing minutes felt as long as years to Spock, and he clutched Jim tightly to his chest. There was little he could do to prevent what the neurotoxin was doing to Kirk as each of his vital systems began shutting down in response to the poison.

The trip to the infirmary felt to Spock as though every normal minute was taking five. He understood it was in response to stress but his logic did not aid him in this moment. He could feel Jim through their bond, gently but inexorably, slipping away from him. With all his strength he clung to that spark and held on, refusing to release him to death. _Th'y'la!_ he cried into the quiet darkness of Kirk's mind. _Do not leave me!_ It was a shout, giving voice to a pain such as he had never known before.

He stumbled out of the aircar with his bond-mate in his arms, thankful for the healer who immediately came forward at a run to inject Kirk with one hypospray, and then another. She slapped a telemetry strap across his forehead, and then directed Spock to place him on the gurney that had been rolled up to them. With Jim on the bed, the system locked onto his vital signs and began to spit out a stream of figures too fast for Spock to interpret.

The healer's face did not yield any information on the gravity of Kirk's condition, but the yellow lights across the telemetry strap did that for him. All were edging into the red.

"He is fading," Spock groaned, holding onto Jim's hand and refusing to let go when the staff attempted to part them. Moving quickly, they made their way into the infirmary and down a number of corridors whose lighting had been dimmed for the evening, but which were now coming back on fast.

The healer gave out a number of quiet orders to her staff, and they calmly but swiftly obeyed, stripping Kirk of his clothing, inserting tubes and placing patches of medication upon him. In a matter of minutes, the red lights began to turn an orange-yellow, and then to yellow, but Jim didn't awaken. He was still an astonishingly dark blue.

Spock sagged against the nearest wall, his knees suddenly unable to hold him. An orderly brought him a chair and with a gentle push, dropped him into it. He couldn't stop the trembling that overcame him.

"Spock, do not fear. Your mate will live."

The healer's words brought his head up. A Vulcan female, T'Ceth, according to her name badge, leaned over him. Her oddly light grey eyes stood out against her sympathetic features. "I have induced a medical coma so that the toxins may chelate out of his system without further damage. It will take some time, but he is in no danger now. All of his functions will be sustained by the computer system until he can maintain homeostasis by himself."

"How long?" he ground out, barely able to speak over the knot in his throat.

"It is different for each patient. By the level of naltinamides in his body, I would speculate that he had eaten at least four, if not five, falla berries. It will take a day for each to leave his system; I would not expect him to be conscious for at least five days. He will need to rest and recuperate after that."

Spock nodded. "Will there be any residual effects?"

"Unlikely. This neurotoxin typically causes death in humans. A lingering paralysis can be a side-effect of the chelation therapy, but it quickly resolves itself."

"I am indebted to you, T'Ceth."

She bowed and checking upon Kirk's telemetry once more, left the room.

Spock carried the chair to Kirk's bedside and rested there, beginning a light meditation to put his thoughts and emotions in order. Once completed, he analyzed the situation.

 

_One: Falla berries are well known to be toxic to humans. No adult Vulcan is unaware of this._

_Two: Jim could have taken the berries himself, but it is unlikely. An experienced Star Fleet officer would not eat food he was uncertain of._

_Three: If Jim did not take the berries, then they were served to him._

_Four: If they were served to him, then someone within T'Rel's household wished him harm or death._

_Five: There are a number of suspects, but the perpetrator would have had to be in the residence. A questioner must be summoned._

_Six: Who would wish to harm Kirk? And why?_

_Seven: How public had this incident become?_

Spock gazed down at his bond-mate and brushed an errant lock of hair from his face. He wondered if it were safe to leave him alone. Yet there were issues that must be addressed, and quickly, for many reasons, including Kirk's future safety.

Rising, he straightened his clothes, ran a hand through his hair to settle it into neatness, and set off to find T'Ceth, and contact a doctor he could easily trust Kirk's very life with.

 

 

 

As Spock was leaving the infirmary, he found his father speaking with T'Rel. Sarek's expression was fierce, indicating his understanding of the situation. "My son." He rested a gentle hand on Spock's shoulder. "Kirk?"

"Lives."

Sarek closed his eyes for a moment. "I am relieved to hear it. I would not wish for harm to come to such a man."

"He was poisoned," Spock declared bluntly.

T'Rel gasped, unwilling or unable to accept what Kirk's condition meant. "Couldn't he have taken the berries himself?"

"Unlikely," Sarek responded, herding them into T'Rel's aircar. "Kirk is a Star Fleet officer, and has traveled to many unknown planets. He wouldn't casually eat anything unless he was certain of it. Amanda advised him of the servitors' role; he would have accepted her words as truth." He hesitated and then murmured, "This was a criminal act, intended to either injure or kill Admiral Kirk and therefore cause an interplanetary incident."

"Agreed," Spock said, his teeth clenching until they ached from the strain.

"An inquisitor has already arrived at T'Rel's home. He will determine what has happened, and find the guilty party."

Spock considered that. Ordinarily, a lower-level investigator, called a "questioner" was summoned to determine whether an act was criminal or not, and to ascertain the guilty parties. An "inquisitor" was a senior investigator, only called in when a truly heinous act had occurred. Vulcan was not a planet of trivial crimes, and both the questioners and inquisitors maintained other positions within Shi'Kahr. Their abilities to ferret out truth were legendary, but Spock had never seen them act previously.

T'Rel's modest residence was ablaze with lights when they arrived. By the number of aircars situated outside, no one had left the gathering before the inquisitor had arrived.

S'Rahne's face was blotched with stress, and she stood closed by T'Rhanna. Both women were physically tense. The rest of the gathering was seated and appearing just as anxious. No one enjoyed an investigation by an inquisitor. The entire room was quiet and still, no one moving or speaking.

In the center of the public room stood a female of slight stature, dressed entirely in black robes that reached the ground, with the sigils of her office embroidered in pure gold thread. She turned slightly and gave them a nod of acknowledgement, but that was all. Her hair was completely white, indicating great age, but her face was neither lined nor creased.

"Now that Spock has arrived, we may truly begin. I have ascertained from the infirmary that Admiral Kirk was poisoned with falla berries, four or five in number." The room gave a general gasp, and then fell silent again. "It is doubtful that anyone with wit would eat an alien food without being certain it would cause no harm. Admiral Kirk, as I understand it, is no idiot, and had been advised of the role of the servitors."

The uniformed Vulcans to the side of the banquette tables stirred nervously. "From the verbal statements I have received, Kirk accepted a plate from a servitor, which one, no one can remember. Odd, that, in a race that prides itself on its memory," she said, her tone entirely sarcastic. "From your verbal statements, I can ascertain no culprit."

The room once again began to murmur nervously, but this time there was the tang of fear in the air. "Therefore, I will require your memories of this evening."

No one spoke. No one moved. The shock was so great that each Vulcan present became completely still. Each understood what the inquisitor meant; she would delve into their mind, their memories, and learn what they knew of the circumstances that surrounded Kirk's poisoning.

"I refuse," one said, and then another, and another.

The woman gave a subtle smile. "You may, of course, refuse. That is your right as a Vulcan citizen. Just as it is the right of Vulcan's judiciary advocate to terminate such citizenship status, suspend your employment, eliminate your clan rights, confiscate your properties, and finally, deport you. Murder is not within your rights as Vulcans!" she snapped. "And the attempted assassination of a high-ranking Star Fleet officer is also not within your rights! It brings scorn, contempt, and derision from those within the Federation, and complete shame to this house and clan."

She turned abruptly, letting them stew for a long moment. "I will begin with Kirk's bond-mate."

Spock obediently sat down on a nearby chair and prepared himself. When he was ready, he raised his face, and long, narrow fingers stroked his temples in warning.

_I would know of your actions this evening._

Her mind voice was gentle, and her touch within his thoughts near imperceptible. Spock began his memories as he entered the residence here, and completed them at the infirmary.

 _The loss of a mate is a terrible thing, Spock, son of Sarek. It is good that Kirk will live._ And with that, she was gone.

None the worse for the experience, and somewhat admiring of the inquisitor's psychic abilities, Spock sat back and waited. He was in no doubt that this formidable female would ascertain who had attempted to kill Jim.

And then they would see violence done.

 

 

 

Spock was quietly speaking with Sorel, once of his associates at the VSA, when there was a shriek of rage from the other end of the room. The inquisitor was standing near the group of males that Spock was not acquainted with. He stood up and moved closer, Sarek at his elbow.

"I will not submit to this atrocity," the first male said, dark eyes flashing. "I am of one of the oldest of the houses of Vulcan and will not be dictated to in this manner by you, inquisitor, for the supposed bond-mate of a human half-breed." His sneer was composed of pure contempt. Spock had heard it all before, many times. The malice of the supposed 'aristocrats' meant nothing to him.

T'Rel stood near the other male. "S'y'lar, my brother, what do you know of this?"

"I know nothing of it," the younger male insisted. "I don't concern myself with the activities of those of suspect breeding."

"Enough of your spite, S'y'lar. Tell me what you know. Immediately, or I will answer any question the inquisitor puts to me."

"He held my debt," one of the servitors' said, his voice a sad, devastated whisper. "He said he would erase it, if I put the berries on the human's plate. But I only gave him two – I do not know where the others came from. The plate was covered when I carried it to him, and I didn't see the others, or I would have removed them. I would never allow a being to die for credits." He sent Spock an apologetic glance. "Truly, Spock, I carry no animus towards you or yours. I would not poison a man for being human."

"He lies," S'y'lar snapped, and would have moved forward to attack the old Vulcan if his brother had not stepped in his way.

"What reason would he have?" the inquisitor asked. "I know when I am lied to, S'y'lar, and you have spouted nothing but mistruths since I arrived."

"I am aware of your political leanings, S'y'lar, but I took it to be the foolishness of youth, and not malevolence on your part," T'Rel added, his face taking on an ashen expression.

"We should have nothing to do with humans," S'y'lar insisted, becoming agitated. "They are nothing but mongrels snapping at our heels."

"What reason did you have for adding the extra berries to Kirk's plate?" the inquisitor asked him, her gaze intense. "It was not your attachment to the Pah'tik party that stimulated this act. The cause was one much more personal to you." Her eyes lost focus for a moment, and then she turned to look at T'Ranna. "How had Admiral Kirk caused injury to your sister, S'y'lar? T'Rel?"

Sarek cleared his throat. "I am unwilling to discuss such a personal matter in front of T'Rel's guests, Inquisitor. May the others depart?"

"You believe you know the reason behind S'y'lar's behavior, Ambassador?"

"I do."

"Than since I have all the information from the other guests that I require, they may depart." She raised one hand in the centuries old gesture. "Long life and prosperity to you."

Spock had never seen a group of Vulcans move so quickly to an exit. When only T'Rel's family, Spock, Sarek and the inquisitor remained, Sarek began to speak.

"T'Rel came to me with the intention of offering T'Ranna to the clan, as bond-mate for Spock." Sarek looked at him. "My son was not aware of this. I took the liberty as his father to refuse the match on the basis of patent unsuitability."

"Why?" the inquisitor asked, her gaze unfathomable. Spock had the impression she already knew Sarek's reasoning, but wanted it spoken aloud.

"T'Ranna's previous bond-mate . . . the musician, Kit'a'e . . . died under somewhat suspicious circumstances within this residence. T'Ranna did not display any evidence of grief or any physical manifestation of a loss of a bond. It was presumed, though not proven, that she had somehow caused the death of Kit'a'e due to their bond not being consummated." The expression on Sarek's face was one of complete distaste; he no more cared to discuss the personal situation within another clan than he did his own.

The Inquisitor did not respond, which in itself was a validation of Sarek's claims.

T'Rel was so pale, his skin had taken on a waxy hue. S'Rahne had long since fallen into a cushion and covered her face with her hands.

"He shamed us!" S'y'lar asserted. "By refusing to accept the offer, he shamed T'Ranna and the clan! As if his wretched son was of such value. It is well known that Spock cannot offer any female a child, because of his half-breed physiology. All they had to offer was their name."

"A name which is still untarnished," Sarek replied dryly. "And my son is far from sterile. He has donated seed as required to our birthing banks for those women who choose to accept that which their own mates cannot give them. His intellectual gifts have made him quite sought after, I understand."

If Spock had not been quite so furious he would have appreciated the compliment his father had given him. As it was, he barely managed to stay composed as he stepped closer to S'y'lar and hissed, "I claim challenge," punctuating the statement with a slap that put the arrogant boy on his knees before him. "I will have my retribution on your body, S'y'lar," he growled out. "And when you are begging me not to slay you, it is James Kirk you will thank for your life."

 


	12. Chapter 12

Admiral James T. Kirk, Deputy Director of Star Fleet Operations, possessor of a name that made Klingons quake and Romulans shudder, lay silently on his bed  . . . struggling to open one eye. It was his third attempt, and if he could have moved any other portion of his anatomy to help him open that eye, he would have.

 _Spock_.

_Th'y'la?_

In his mind, Kirk raised a hand and thumped it down on the bed, hard. _Will you please, for the love of Mike, tell me what that means?_

_What does Mike have to do with love?_

_Spo-o-ck!_

_Th'y'la has many meanings, Jim. Brother. Brother-friend. Warrior-friend. Lover._

_And how do you mean it?_

Jim waited. And waited. _Spock?_

_It is emotional._

_That's okay. Just tell me._

_It is not a literal translation._

_Spock, so help me, when I get out of this bed—_

_My love._

_What?_

_My . . . love._

Jim felt his cheeks flush. _And when did you figure that out?_

_Exactly at the moment I began begging you not to die._

_Exactly, huh? I knew when you told me you wanted me. In Vulcan._

Spock gave a soft sigh.

_One of these days you'll have to tell me what you said._

_As you wish._

_But in a less formal location than the infirmary, please. One without McCoy hovering like some demented, guardian angel._

_I do not know how he has managed not to alienate the staff, most of whom are Vulcans, and who do not care to have their planet insulted in such a manner as he has employed._

_Finally!_ Jim cried in triumph _. I've gotten one eye open. Now, the other one. . .._

After blinking a few times, Jim was able to see again. Spock sat in a chair by his side, a computer pad on his lap, one hand idly stroking Jim's still-paralyzed arm. His gaze was soft and warm and Kirk relaxed in it, feeling safe for the first time since they'd arrived. _Why are your hands bruised?_ he asked.

_I needed to teach a young man a moral lesson._

Jim figured it had something to do with his poisoning. McCoy had been furious when he'd arrived, snarling about how everyone of the planet was trying to kill him in one way or another. _How's he feeling now?_

 _Much wiser,_ Spock replied, his tone satisfied. _And in urgent need of an infirmary himself._

Jim could only imagine what the lesson entailed if Spock's hands were emerald-hued. _So you're a tough guy now?_ Kirk teased.

_Have I not always been a 'tough guy' when you are threatened?_

Jim didn't need to think about that to know the answer. _When am I going to start moving again?_

_A day or so._

_That long? I'm getting creases in places I don't want them._

Spock did his best not to smile, but Jim caught him at it anyway.

_You know, the fact that your mother doesn't like me—_

_My mother is quite fond of you. It is your present position as my bond-mate she has concerns about._

_−And your issues with sex—_

_I do not have issues with sex. I have issues with sex—with you._

_−And the fact that I was nearly murdered—_

Spock was silent.

_−I think it's high time we go home._

_As soon as you are sufficiently well to travel we shall return to Earth. I, too, am weary of Vulcan and Vulcans._

_I'm not so weary of one Vulcan in particular._

_That is good. For this Vulcan is not one you are allowed to leave behind._ Spock punctuated his remark by leaning over and giving Jim a soft, gentle kiss. Frustrated that he couldn't participate, Jim grumbled, _I hope it was a significantly painful moral lesson._

_If not for the presence of my father, and your subsequent disappointment in me, I should have killed him. It would have been completely within my rights._

Jim thought about that for a moment. While Spock's mental voice was calm, the emotions that roiled beneath that sentence were vivid and violent. _I'm glad you didn't. That's not the legacy you should leave Vulcan._

_All I wish to leave Vulcan with is you, alive and well. McCoy has threatened me with severe damage to sensitive areas of my anatomy should I bring you here again._

Kirk smiled, but the muscles of his face didn't move. _Your anatomy belongs to me. And you'd think I couldn't take care of myself the way you two carry on._

_Of course not, Jim. The doctor has never needed to use his mojo on you before._

_Mojo? Shut up, Spock, and get over here. I need kisses to make up for what I've suffered._

Kisses delivered, and with Spock lying on the bed and holding him, breaking infirmary rules right left and sideways, Jim Kirk was once more fiercely looking forward to the future.

Their future.

And let the galaxy beware.


	13. Chapter 13

"Jim, I have looked over the new skin temperature conversion ratios that Mr. Scott sent to us—"

Spock stood stock-still in their bedroom and wordlessly looked upon his bond-mate.

His half-naked, utterly inviting and sensually sublime, bond-mate.

Jim lay back on the dark green of the blankets, on his side, his uniform pants the only thing shielding the rest of his body from view, bare feet seeming oddly fragile without boots. There were reports strewn across the bed, but the Admiral wasn't reading any of them. He was asleep.

 _How the man manages to look like an invitation to ravishment sound asleep, I cannot comprehend,_ Spock thought to himself fondly, laying aside his computer pad and dimming the lights to softness with a word. He removed the data pads, the computer print-outs, the reports and flimsies, and laid them aside. Jim had been working hard since their return to duty a few weeks ago. Given their recent difficulties on Vulcan, it was remarkable that McCoy had given the admiral medical clearance to active duty. But Jim appeared to have 'bounced-back' as the doctor put it, and Spock could only agree. Kirk seemed to thrive on a diet of adversity and stress that would kill one less determined than he.

He had completed clearing the bed surface when Jim's eyes opened, and the gold-green orbs speared him with a look of love so intense, Spock felt his knees tremble in response.

"Come here," Kirk urged, his strong arms open and insistent. He moved to lie against the pillows, and opened his legs. "I need to feel you."

"I am with you every night," Spock reminded, as if Jim needed reminding.

"Please."

He said the word in the soft, appealing tone that could undermine Spock's stoical Vulcan side any time Kirk chose to use it. Spock had realized, and perhaps had always instinctually known, it was useless to resist. He was Kirk's and had been his since the first moment, had he but known it then. He knelt upon the bed, and then crawled into Jim's arms.

They hadn't touched one another like this since before Jim's poisoning. Their kiss went deep, a hungry melding of lips and tongues, teeth clacking together in their haste. Jim's hands on his skin stroked gently over his chest, brushing against the nubs there, then gliding slowly down until his hand inched over Spock's waistband and below, to roughly fondle his engorging penis through his pants.

Spock closed his eyes, in a vain attempt to hide what Jim's touch did to him. Kirk kissed his closed eyelids, allowing him this semblance of privacy.

He wanted to toss Jim down and do whatever he wished to him, but it was he who was turned to lie on the bedding, Jim leaning over him, warm breath against his lips proposing another kiss if he would just—

"Open your eyes, beloved," Jim urged, gifting him with light brushes of his lips until he did. "Let me see it. I want to see what you're feeling."

The intimacy made him squirm on the inside, and Jim soothed him with his mouth nuzzling his cheek, and caressing his temple before moving to his ear. "I've never needed anyone like I need you." His words were accompanied by a rush of possessive desire through the bond, and Spock felt himself harden even further. He pushed against Jim's hands, wanting more, and Jim rose above him, a mischievous smile twisting his lips. "Let me steer the ship this time."

Spock complied by lying quiescent against the blankets, but wishing Kirk would hurry. He felt much warmer than his normal body temperature and pulled off his shirts in a jumble of cloth, only to feel Jim at his feet, pulling off his boots, and every other scrap of fabric between them.

Kirk did not hesitate. He draped himself over his lover, skin brushing skin, hard organs caught between their bodies. It was torment, it was torture, not enough . . . and yet, too much.

"Easy, love, easy," Jim urged, nipping his throat, distracting him from the fire that burned below. "Let the fire have you. Give in to it. I'll catch you, you won't fall far."

Spock let out a cry of anguish, everything he had ever learned about negating emotions arguing with the need to complete himself with his mate. Sarek had been right; a Vulcan bond-mate would have been far easier. But then he would have never known this desire, this passion and outright need outside of the conflagration of _pon farr_. Mating with a human required more strength than any Vulcan who had not done it could understand. To retain one's self and love like this . . . it was every idea of Seyjan's contained in one sentence. Spock finally understood and reveled in it.

He smiled up at his lover, his best friend, and life mate. His hands stroked over Kirk's skin, admiring the strength in his body, the way he vibrated beneath his hands, controlling his own desire to ensure that Spock was comfortable. " _T'hy'la_ ," he breathed, using every iota of the emotions he was feeling to highlight the word. "My _t'hy'la_."

"Yes. Always, Spock. Forever," Kirk agreed, his eyes bright, face flushed. His love pounded through the lines connecting their souls together, welding them ever more tightly into one entity.

"Show me." His voice was hoarse with hunger and he barely recognized it as his own.

Jim's answering smile was sin made flesh. Kirk slid down his body, sucking his nipples along the way, while broad hands stroking against his hips, pinning him in place like a specimen on a plate. His teeth dented the soft flesh of his nub and pulled lightly, causing a flash-fire between his breast and his penis. He bit back a cry that was far more pleasure than pain, the throbbing the nip left behind a whispered counterpoint to the pulse that shouted through his engorged organ. The other nipples received only a gentle laving, followed by an even more delightful sucking, causing Spock's hands to grip Jim's head to keep him there.

"You're mine, Spock, every inch, every ounce, every thought and every breath," Kirk asserted proudly, his body rosy and damp in the heat of their mutual want.

"And you . . . are mine," the Vulcan growled, his hands locked in Jim's hair, holding him still for his lips to ravage that silky mouth. "I will prove it on your body, _t'hy'la_."

Jim trembled, but it was not in fear. "Oh, god, Spock, you make me weak. I can’t think when you talk like that."

Satisfied he had made his point, Spock began to touch Jim's magnificent body, stroking a strong pectoral muscle there, a bunched hip flexor here, before resting his fingers against his check. "Then don't, my love."

As if his words were some kind of goad, Jim slid down his body until his head was pillowed on Spock's thigh, succulent lips too close to his organ for Spock to lie quietly any longer. He feared this and he wanted it at the same time.

"Easy," Jim coaxed as though calming a horse he had yet to ride. "Easy."

Unable to remain still, Spock moaned softly and Kirk took pity on him. He moved until he was centered over the long length of his organ, gazing at it with an expression of lust that was pure and untainted with any other thoughts.

Spock cried out when Jim's tongue first stroked over him, his thighs bunching in a vain effort to bring that particular sensation back. Jim chuckled, his breath a subtle warning, and then Spock was engulfed by a moist heat, a silken tunnel that robbed him of air and comprehensible thought.

It was evident by his practiced manner, that Kirk had done this previously. Before any hint of jealousy could steal into his soul, he reminded himself that Jim was _his_ , by his own word and wish. He would never have another lover but Spock. His talents, in any direction, were wholly owned now by his Vulcan mate. That thought banished, he gave himself over to pleasure.

Jim's hand was busily pumping Spock, his lips locked onto his flesh, devouring him with a fervor that left Spock attempting to control his thrusts, but unable to hold back. The heated mouth changed rhythm on him, demanding more in this moment, and giving it back in the next, until Spock was unable to do anything but hold on to the blankets and yield.

Kirk seemed to know the moment that occurred. The fingers of his free hand stroked Spock's scrotum, teasing the curls there before rolling the globes in their soft prison.

 _Mine,_ Jim insisted, his mental voice strong and confident in his ownership.

 _Yes,_ Spock agreed softly, aware that there had never been a day when this was not true. Even before they met, he had belonged only here, with Jim, by his side, in his heart and mind.

Orgasm struck like a wild electrical storm, locking his calves, thighs and back into an upward arch, pouring his seed deep into Jim's willing mouth, his hands vainly scrabbling for purchase in a wash of emotion that was dragging him into the void.

 _Hold on to me, Spock,_ Kirk urged. Spock could feel the fire of release sweeping through Jim's body as well, its fire all the sweeter for being unexpected.

After what felt like too short a moment, the bliss receded, and Spock was left on Earth, his skin wet with sweat, heart pounding, his muscles trembling in the aftermath. Jim lay against his leg, appearing as fractured as Spock felt. He crawled his way up Spock's body, to collapse against his chest, panting, winded, and completely desirable. Spock kissed him, wanting to taste his own essence on Jim's lips.

Sated and tired, Kirk returned his kiss, and then curled against him, sleep overriding any need to speak. _Love you_ , was his last though before Spock felt him slide into slumber.

_As I do thee, beloved, evermore._


End file.
